


Between Heartbeats

by princesskay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Anal Sex, Bottom Will, M/M, Murder Husbands, Pining, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is the universe pre-ordained? If it is, can we change it? If we could, how much chaos do we cause? </p><p>Hannibal defies anything that calls Fate, and refuses to be ruled by anyone but himself. But perhaps knowing Will Graham was kismet. Falling in love ... that was unavoidable. He just has to persuade Will to truly see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost To The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hannigram fic ever. Has this been done before? ;)  
> All mistakes are my own. Enjoy! :)

Pale yellow curtains danced under the current of a gentle breeze, admitting the essence of rugged terrain, earth, and pine trees. The morning sunlight glinted off the dew lingering from the night before, and cast a cozy shadow on the cabin nestled in the Virginia woods.

Will gave a quiet moan as the daylight forced his eyelids open. The warm, velvet embrace of the sheets pulled him back toward dream land, but the nagging of reality had already grounded him in the present. The scent of coffee and breakfast was too pungent, the warmth of the sheets too exact to be a dream.

With a resigning sigh, Will sat up slowly and threw the covers back. A glance at the clock told him it was just past eight. He'd been in and out last night, battling fever and pain, but he could clearly recall Hannibal bent over him with wet washcloths and a gentle touch.

Will didn't know what day it was, or how long they had been here. He simply knew this was his first lucid morning, and perhaps he would have rather stayed in fevered delirium.

Rising from the bed, Will clutched a hand to his side and limped out into the kitchen.

The trappings in this cabin paled deeply in comparison to the lavish accessories of Hannibal's mansion in Baltimore. The kitchen was stuffed into a corner with a wrap-around counter, all three sides holding more than their share of pots, pans, and silverware. A two person table was centered in the tiny space beside the third side of the counter, making expansive room for the rows of paintings on the opposite wall.

Will barely took note of Hannibal moving with grace about the small kitchen as he drew his gaze across the numerous scenes depicted in the paintings. Many were landscapes, originating from diverse countries, while others were clearly staples of Hannibal's native Lithuania. Will's gaze settled with morbid concession on a pencil drawing, a replica of the Great Red Dragon, though instead of a woman clasped in the dragon's tail it was his own twisted body and despairing face.

“Another one for your memory palace?” He asked, tersely.

Hannibal didn't avert his eyes from his cooking, “Good art cannot be replicated, only improved upon. I'd say my improvements were fitting … don't you?”

“So, I'm a the victim of the dragon, caught it's tail ...” Will said, turning gaze at Hannibal's back, “About to be submitted to the dragon's prolific sexual appetite ...”

“Prolific?” Hannibal chuckled.

He turned sharply, snatching a pan of sizzling omelet from the stove top, “I'd say my needs are more basic.”

“You still want to eat me?”

Hannibal's mouth curled in a secretive smile as he dished the omelet onto two separate plates.

“You're not going to tell me.” Will concluded.

“I'll be honest, Will, as honest as I can be-”

“That's not saying much.”

Hannibal's smile broadened, “Even so, to be honest, I've considered it thoroughly from start to finish since we arrived her. I'll let current circumstance speak in the conclusion of that consideration.”

Will tipped his head and crossed his arms, “I suppose I should thank you for changing your mind.”

“If you like. It was your own stubborn pettiness that triggered that possibility in the first place.” Hannibal replied as he took a seat at the table.

“I was under the impression you liked my stubborn pettiness.”

Hannibal's chin tilted upward, his eyes dancing with amusement, “Take a seat, Will, before your breakfast goes cold.”

Will sat down and plucked his knife and fork from the table. He drew in a deep breath and sliced a bite-sized piece away from the omelet. The fluffy, yellow egg split open to reveal a pocket of melted cheese, chopped onion and pepper, and pink, diced meat.

He was much too famished to consider rejecting Hannibal's cooking for obstinance's sake. He plucked the bite from the fork, and suppressed a sound of delight as the taste filled his mouth.

“One of the simplest breakfast dishes, yet so timeless.” Hannibal murmured, cheeks going rosy with satisfaction.

“And to think, it can be made without human flesh.” Will replied, pointedly.

Hannibal smirked, “Who's to say it wasn't?”

Will froze from chewing and his eyes dropped to the omelet. Indeed, the meal was packed with the tender, juicy cubes of meat that held no particular markers of an animal's flesh.

Hannibal broke into a chuckle that made Will's teeth grind.

“To be sure, if it were of human origin, I wouldn't make you aware until after consumption.” He waved a hand at Will's horrified expression, “Whether you believe me or not, I do have a measure of self-control.”

Will sighed and cut half-hazardly at the omelet, “If that thought ever escapes you, I'm sure you also know that it would look awfully suspicious should folks in this area start turning up missing vital organs.”

“I was practicing the culinary arts while you were still finishing school. As keenly observed by our dear Jack Crawford, I've hubbed hell more than once.” Hannibal replied, a cool smile catching at his lips,“I was only caught because of you.”

“No, that was your choice.”

Hannibal cocked his head as if to disagree, but no argument passed his lips. Instead, he motioned to the meal before them, “This conversation is too heavy for breakfast.”

“Changing the subject seems below you, Hannibal.” Will remarked.

“I won't speak another word to you until you finish the food I have graciously prepared.” Hannibal replied, “You must eat, rest, and regain your strength. You'll do none of the three fruitlessly arguing with me.”

Will glared across the table at him for only a few moments longer before turning back to his food. They ate in a stifled silence with only the scrape and clink of silverware across china to fill the void.

When their plates were empty, Hannibal cleared the table.

“Come,” He said, approaching Will with an out stretched hand, “Your bandages need changing.”

Ignoring the offered hand, Will rose from the table and followed Hannibal to the cramped bathroom. He shifted carefully onto the edge of the sink, gripping the edges as Hannibal moved closer. His breath was warm and steady against Will's bare chest as he snipped the bandages from around Will's midsection with a pair of scissors. With a fresh cloth doused in warm water, he dabbed away the crusted blood.

“It's healing nicely.” Hannibal murmured.

“It doesn't feel like it.” Will grunted.

“For a few days I thought I might lose you.” Hannibal said, grimacing, “But I believe the worst of it is over.”

“I suppose that's a good thing.”

Will followed the remark with a sharp inhale as Hannibal smoothed a wet cloth over the sutured wound, cleaning away the dried blood.

“It is. I'm immensely pleased you're back on your own two feet.” Hannibal agreed.

Will pursed his lips, silently tracking Hannibal's movements as Hannibal dipped a cotton ball in alcohol and set out fresh bandages.

“This may hurt.” He murmured as he extended the alcohol doused cotton ball toward the wound.

Will clenched his teeth as the alcohol stung into the wound. Hannibal's hand was far from gentle, and Will wondered if that were from a naturally heavy hand or intent to punish.

He drew in a sharp breath as Hannibal finished with the cotton ball. The stinging persisted, forcing water to the rims of his eyes, a knot into his chest. He glanced down sharply when he felt a gentle burst of warm air across his shoulder. His breathing faltered when he looked down to see Hannibal's lips puckered, blowing across the stitched wound.

“Th-that doesn't help ...” Will stammered, arching away from the warm stream of breath.

“In my experience it does.” Hannibal contradicted, softly.

“Just bandage it up, will you?”

“As a doctor, it's my oath to take the utmost care of my patients.” Hannibal replied, smirking through the entirety of that ridiculous remark.

Will didn't deign a reply despite the numerous, sarcastic comments swimming through his head. He simply gritted his teeth as Hannibal wrapped the wound in new bandages and sealed it off with tape.

“And now, the face.” Hannibal murmured, reaching up to carefully peel the gauze from Will's cheek.

“What about your wounds?” Will asked.

“I care for them myself.” Hannibal replied, dipping another cotton ball in alcohol, “It's not the first time, as you can imagine.”

“I bet you have scars all over.”

“Would you like to see them?”

Hannibal paused from the dressings to cast a piercing gaze down at Will. The sharp brown of his eyes dared, and the swallowing black pupils dilated in silent anticipation.

Will bit back a quick reply, knowing it would be the wrong one. After a few pounding beats counting out by his heart, he gave a strangled, “No.”

“Perhaps another time.”

Hannibal pressed the cotton ball to Will's cheek, drawing a pained curse from his patient.

“There, now.” Hannibal soothed, dropping the cotton ball in the trash, “Pain is just for a moment.”

“Please don't say pain is weakness leaving the body.” Will panted, “Or some other macho bullshit like that.”

“No macho bullshit.” Hannibal chuckled, “It's simply a reminder that nothing lasts forever.”

“Even this?” Will asked, glancing out of the corner of his eye as Hannibal focused on taping new gaze over the wound.

“Us, you mean.” Hannibal clarified.

“If you want to call it that. The way I see it, it's a little more complicated ...”

“Of course I know it won't last forever.” Hannibal replied. His teeth flashed as he bit a length of tape off the roll. Pressing the tape to Will's cheek a bit too firmly, he added, “I'm besot, not imbecilic.”

“I suppose there's no hiding that now.” Will murmured, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

“I never tried hiding it.” Hannibal said, softly.

One hand lingered over the bandage on Will's cheek while the other dropped to his thigh, resting there so innocuous, yet so heavy.

“Then maybe I was just blind.” Will whispered.

His heart thudded dully in his chest, a thick, sickening motion that he knew all too well. It was the suffocation that came with surrender, the panic that always accompanied the following burst of pleasure when he finally let go of inhibition.

This time, it was the quiet roar before a storm.

Hannibal head tilted closer, one lock of hair slashing across the warmth of a hopeful gaze. His fingers tightened ever so cautiously around Will's knee, printing the shape of his possessive fingers into Will's skin. His body inclined until their chests met, two hearts beating wildly against each other, their mouths hovering mere centimeters apart. Will could taste Hannibal's breath and feel the heat of his urgency across his face and neck. His nostrils took in the warm, hazy scent that was distinctive to Hannibal, a scent branded on his memory and pulling at his soul to comply.

Will's mind twirled through a limbo-like haze, each sensation registering individually, one after the other, overwhelming his senses. Each small touch, each shift of muscle, every degree of friction until his overloaded mind interrupted the orders his suddenly throbbing body were sending him.

Ripping away from Hannibal, Will nearly toppled back into the sink before catching himself on the mirrored cabinet behind him.

Hannibal released him and took a step back, breathing steadily and boring a hole through Will's head with his smoldering eyes.

Will pushed himself off the edge of the sink and pushed past Hannibal, making a break for the exit with all haste.

“Will-” Hannibal called after him, reaching out a hand toward Will's escaping back.

Ignoring the plea, Will tucked his feet into his shoes, threw his jacket over his bare back and escaped onto the back porch, where the chill of the morning lingered to chase off the heat coursing through his veins.

 


	2. Farewell

Will was content to spend two hours out on the porch, ignoring the cold, ignoring his ass aching from sitting on the wooden slats of the porch swing for far too long. Hannibal didn't follow him out.

The sun had almost peaked above the canopy of trees when, in the distance, Will glimpsed the glint of steel and glass on the narrow path that led to the front door of the cabin.

Slowly rising from the swing, Will squinted to make out the form of a black car rolling down the dusty, beaten path. It took mere moments for panic to settle in his chest.

Forgetting the tension between them, Will slammed the door open with his shoulder and rushed into the cabin shouting, “Hannibal!”

Hannibal quickly emerged from the hallway, one index finger keeping the place in his book, “What is it, Will?”

“Someone's coming.” Will panted, pointing to the front door.

Hannibal marched past him and held one hand over his brow to squint beyond the glass of the storm door. His shoulders relaxed after a few moments.

“It's just Chiyoh.”

“She knows where we are?” Will asked, frowning.

“Yes, and she's the only one.” Hannibal replied.

“I didn't think anyone knew where we were. What if someone followed her?” Will demanded.

“No one followed her.” Hannibal assured, “I trust Chiyoh.”

“She pushed me off a moving train, and then shot me.” Will ground out, “Don't be surprised if I don't share that same sentiment.”

“I apologize for her, in advance, however, I am compelled to point out you were about to knife me in the back.” Hannibal said with a brief smile, “From now on protecting me will be synonymous with protecting you. I've let her know that.”

“That's comforting.” Will sneered.

Hannibal set his book on the sofa and stepped out onto the porch just as Chiyoh parked her car next to the cabin. She emerged from the driver's seat, dressed demurely in black slacks and a wool pea coat. Her hair was secured at the nape, and she wore minimal make-up. In her hand was clutched a yellow envelope.

“Chiyoh,” Hannibal greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, “Thank you for coming. Please, step inside.”

Chiyoh's gaze perused Will before gliding back to Hannibal, “He looks much better than the last time I was here.”

“She was here?” Will asked.

“You were quite ill.” Chiyoh supplied, “Delirious. It's better you don't remember.”

“Let's not talk about what's come and gone.” Hannibal suggested, “It's a pity I can't offer you wine. It does me good to see you.”

“I just came to bring this.” Chiyoh said, extending the envelope.

Hannibal opened the envelope and peered inside, “It seems everything is here.”

“It is. Everything just as you said.” Chiyoh nodded, “There are more provisions in the car. Is there anything else you need?”

“I shouldn't think so. Would you like to stay longer? Perhaps for brunch?”

“Perhaps some tea.” She agreed.

“Very well.” Hannibal dipped his head, “I'll boil some water.”

“I will get the rest of the things from the car.” Chiyoh replied.

As she stepped back outside, Will turned a questioning gaze to Hannibal, “What is she talking about? What's in that envelope?”

“Everything we need to leave the U.S. as soon as possible.” Hannibal replied, “Passports, airplane tickets, money, birth certificates … a new life.”

“A new life?” Will echoed in disbelief, “Just like that? You expect me to leave with you, and what?- Live happily ever after?”

Hannibal paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. His tongue slid across his lower lip in a contemplative motion before he spoke, “You must understand the gravity of this situation, Will. The consequences of what we did. This isn't like before, when you were acquitted of the murders, or when I turned myself in. You can't run away this time, Will. There is no going back. What happened on that cliff when we slayed the Red Dragon was your becoming. It was you who said that we were merging, becoming one. Do you still see yourself as you did five years ago? Before you killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs?... Before you knew Abigail? Don't lie to yourself. The truth is, you will never be the same.”

Will sucked in a breath, struggling against the sudden sting in his eyes, “Molly will never know-”

“You have to forget about her, Will.” Hannibal insisted, one hand rising to brush against Will's cheek, “Forget her, forget Jack, Alana, the FBI. It's all behind us now. You have evolved, been … reborn. Whatever you saw in your old life, if you ever go back it will forever be tainted, tasteless; shadows and shells of what they once meant to you. It's about survival for yourself, for the animal inside you.”

Will squeezed his eyes shut, cutting off the vision of Hannibal's eyes searing into his own, so raw, so honest. They held no lie. He had only to turn such an unadulterated view inward to realize the Will Graham of the past was someone he no longer knew.

“Perhaps I should go.”

Will's eyes jerked open to see Chiyoh lingering in the doorway, her arms loaded with brown paper sacks.

Hannibal's hands slipped away from Will's cheeks, lingering awkwardly in the air between them for a few moments before settling on straightening the hem of his shirt.

“No, please stay, Chiyoh. It would be a pleasure.”

She pursed her lips. Her opinion of the situation was painfully clear in her eyes.

“If you insist.” She conceded.

Will did not join Chiyoh and Hannibal in the kitchen while the two drank tea and conversed. He wandered anxiously about the sitting room, arranging the furniture to exact angles, wiping the dusk from counter tops, lining up the books and trinkets evenly on the shelf.

A storm brewed in his chest, coming down like the weight of a thousand bricks. He could hear Chiyoh describing the police investigation unfolding back in Baltimore, and for the first time since waking up in this cabin, the complete gravity of the situation surpassed his shock.

_Hannibal was right. There is no going back._

Going back meant leaving Hannibal. Going to the police. Going to Jack. And with the only possible conclusion – turning Hannibal in to the police. He hadn't truly considered the ramifications of such actions before now, but as he stood there, staring at the spines of the classics lined on the shelf, he knew he couldn't betray Hannibal.

_Can't live with him. Can't live without._

“Will?”

Will's head jerked up to see Hannibal and Chiyoh entering from the kitchen. He wondered how long he'd been standing there for, staring at the bookshelf.

“Chiyoh was just leaving. I was saying we should thank her for all she's done.” Hannibal said, casting a smile at Chiyoh.

“Yes, um ...” Will cleared his throat and scrubbed at an itch at the back of his neck, “Thanks ...” he finished meekly.

“I trust I'll see you again soon.” Hannibal said, laying a hand on the small of Chiyoh's back once they reached the door, “I can't thank you enough.”

“What's done in friendship doesn't require anything in return.” Chiyoh replied.

A brief, cool smile like a chilly, autumn breeze crossed her lips. She slipped out the door without another glance in Will's direction. Hannibal closed the door behind her with a sort of grim determination.

“Things are heating up in Baltimore.” He remarked, “We'll be leaving soon.”

“What's the destination?” Will asked, hoarsely.

“I'm afraid I've worn out my welcome in Italy, which is unfortunate since it is one of my favorite places on earth.” Hannibal replied, “We'll be going to France.”

“Do you speak French?”

Hannibal's lips curled in a demure smile, “A bit.”

“I don't.”

“I'll take care of you.” Hannibal replied.

He paced to the sofa and lounged against the arm, crossing one leg over the other, “If you'll allow me.”

“It doesn't seem that I have much of a choice.”

Hannibal uttered a quiet sigh, “Perhaps I was too harsh and hasty when I spoke earlier … demanding that you forget your life here.”

“You think so?” Will asked, smartly.

Hannibal's gaze sharpened, “Where else are you to go, Will?”

“I've had an … epiphany, if you will.” Will replied, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Ah?”

“About you and me … And … us.” The phrase felt strange coming from his lips.

Hannibal's eyebrows rose, “And?”

“I won't be making a break for Baltimore, or any part of Maryland. You're right. I can't go back. I feel it would be … wrong to betray you.”

“You could leave and never see me or your old life again.” Hannibal said, “Go somewhere entirely different from me.”

“I don't have anything anywhere else.” Will murmured, “No friends or family. When you travel, you're never alone. You have your memory palace, your connections …. your dinner companions.” He added the final remark slowly to test Hannibal's no doubt lurching urges. He noted little more than a twitch below the left eyelid.

“You could survive without me … The other way around, not so much.”

“As demonstrated so clearly by my incarceration, I beg to differ.” Hannibal said, “I have been waiting a long time, Will, and my desires are sometimes profuse. We cannot all be masters of our wants and needs; at times we are little more than slaves to them. I chide myself for succumbing too quickly. It's impolite.”

“Are you apologizing for trying to … kiss me?” Will asked, voice going strangled over those last two words.

“Yes and no.”

“Then I may or may not forgive you.”

Hannibal's lips tugged back in an amused smile, “Come here and sit with me. That bookcase can hold your interest for only so long, am I right?”

Will uttered a sigh but shuffled to the couch despite the muffled urge to fight Hannibal's charms that still struggled for life inside his chest.

As he sank to the cushions, Hannibal shifted closer, circling his arm around Will's shoulders and touching Will's cheek with his knuckles.

“We've made each other so tormented.” He observed in a yearning whisper, “What can I do now to please you?”

Will glanced around the homely cabin, with it's superficial veneer of familial comfort, it's rows of books, it's tiny trinkets from around the world, the fireplace filled with charred lumps of wood. Anyone could be happy here; anyone but these two lost souls.

“I miss my dogs.” He whispered.

 

~

 

After spending the last two weeks bedridden, Will took pleasure in venturing out into the small clearing behind the cabin. The thick foliage of the trees provided shade and cover that made the cabin nearly invisible from a distance.

Will sat in the sparse grass and dirt, his eyes shut as he imagined the lap of cool, stream water around his legs, the roar of a waterfall in the distance, the hum of insects from the trees along the shore line. His lure was cast out into the water, nothing quite yet tugging at his fishing pole, but he was content to stand and wait.

His mind was restless and disjointed. The stag waited among the trees, snorting great, fiery breaths from it's lungs and stamping the ground. It was like waiting for the train to arrive, but not yet knowing where it would take him. He had an insatiable to need to know, but a knotting in his stomach at the thought of leaving familiar soil.

“May I join you?”

He hadn't noticed Abigail join him.

Will's eyes jerked open, vaulting him back into reality. The scent of pine was thick in his nostrils, while cicadas hummed at alarming volume. Hannibal, dressed in slacks and a basil green oxford, settled down on the ground next to him, unperturbed by the dirt that immediately clung to his fine clothing.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, my I join you?” Hannibal repeated, a smile gracing his lips, “You looked so content I almost didn't come out.”

“Building my memory palace … just like you taught me.” Will replied, sliding a surreptitious glance to Hannibal's thoughtful profile.

“Escapism is a staple of human survival.” Hannibal murmured, “Reality is far too harsh to spend every second cataloging the gruesome details.”

“Some people's realities are more gruesome than others.” Will replied.

“The harsher the reality, the greater the need to escape. Will you escape with me?”

Will's gaze faltered as Hannibal's eyes turned their penetrative probing to him.

“We could create a new reality.” Hannibal added, “There's numerous empty rooms in the memory palace still. I'd take great pleasure in filling them with you at my side.”

“You make life on the run sound like so much fun.” Will said, focusing his gaze on the tiny blades of grass he tugged from the earth.

“Such is my life.”

“Your life ...” Will murmured, crushing grass beneath his thumb, “You're still a mystery to me, Hannibal. I know all the facts the FBI does, where you were born, who your family was, all the places you've traveled, that you studied medicine and the mind, the names of the people you've killed …I've studied you, plotted your death, all from a clinical or enraged perspective. I think in some ways, I don't know you at all.”

“You want to know me better, Will?”

Will gave a quiet snort, “My point is that perspective is reality. The more we care about someone the more innocent and good they are. The more we hate them, the more evil they are. I'm finding myself somewhere in between; it's skewed ...”

“It's not in our power to direct our emotions, but it is inevitable that they evolve. Whatever you think of me now won't be the same a year from now.” Hannibal replied. A brief smile crossed his lips and he gave Will's knee a squeeze, “Your emotions will fall into place, Will, and when they do, you'll realize you've been fighting all the wrong things.”

He rose from the ground and dusted off his clothes.

“Come, Will, the memory palace can wait.”

Will scanned the clearing with a longing gaze. Under the canopy of trees and a pale blue sky, he could live here content for the rest of his life. It was a shame the same things that had brought him here were the same things that were driving him away.

“Is it time?” He asked.

“Yes.”

Will let out a sigh and pushed himself to his feet. Pine needles and dirt pepped his trousers, the last few reminders of this place that would cling to him after they drove away.

“Come, Will.” Hannibal repeated, resting his hand softly on Will's shoulder, “It's not the last you'll see of peace.”

Will reluctantly turned his back on the solitude the forest offered, and followed Hannibal back into the cabin. Everything was in order and put away. The ashes of last night's fire were cleaned from the hearth, and their bags sat packed by the door.

Will lingered in the living room as Hannibal went about the cabin, locking the doors and windows.

For a wavering moment, he considered fleeing the cabin, running as far and fast as he could. He knew Hannibal wouldn't chase him. He'd given Will every opportunity to choose a different path. Will had accepted their position, that they were conjoined and inseparable, but this moment was the point of no return. Once they left America, there was no looking back.

“Ready?”

Will jolted when Hannibal strode into the living room, a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

Will gave a faltering nod.

“Take a bag.” Hannibal motioned to the suitcases by the door.

Will grabbed one of the bags, grunting under it's weight. He could only imagine what Hannibal had packed into the suitcases, considering they had left Baltimore with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Will followed Hannibal out of the cabin and heaved the suitcase into the trunk of the car. When he climbed into the passenger seat, he sank down against the leather, his arms wrapped across his chest. He could see the cabin in the side mirror, Hannibal locking the front door and dragging the bags down the front walk to the car.

His only frame of reference was the memory of leaving home for New Orleans to join the police force. That time, he'd left behind his father, and his mother's grave. He'd shaken the dust of that grimy little town from his shoes and blazed on to the flashing lights of the big city. He hadn't looked back since. This time, he wondered if history would repeat itself.

 

 


	3. Rain In Paris

It was a Parisian July, a month of dry, summer air with the exception of one hazy evening when the puffy, gray clouds peeked open to shower the City of Lights in a tender, misty rain. It was sweet and innocent, almost an afterthought to the scene set in the villa at the edge of the city.

The embers of a fire burned low under the mantel, where the figurine of a regal stag watched over the the dinner prepared on the low table. There were no lights except for a floor lamp that looked over the shoulder of the couch.

“How are you enjoying Paris?” Hannibal asked.

The splash of wine into two glasses preceded Will's reply.

“It's not as romantic as everyone says.”

“Perhaps we should go out more often.” Hannibal suggested, “The flavor of France is unique and beautiful, in my experience.”

“I don't want to go out.”

Hannibal extended a glass of rose wine that Will took without glancing up from the fire.

“I'm thinking of Greece next.” Hannibal murmured, passing his nose over the rim of the wineglass.

“Next to the ocean.”

“If you wish.”

“I've never enjoyed the ocean.” Will said, taking a sip of his wine.

“Why is that? It's lovely.”

“I grew up in Louisiana.” Will replied, dourly, “The only water I saw was swamp, teeming with mud and alligators.”

“I'll show you the ocean.” Hannibal said, “And anything else you missed out on in your childhood.”

“We're running from the authorities, and you make it sound like a vacation.” Will pointed out.

“I've lived with that fact for most of my life. It suits me, I suppose.”

“It must get awfully lonely.”

“Not anymore.”

Will glanced up from the fire to see Hannibal gazing at him with a diminutive smile.

“Well, I guess that makes me worth something.” Will replied with a self-deprecating snort.

“What makes you think you weren't worth something before?” Hannibal asked, his smile fading.

“I was supposed to catch you.” Will said, a mirthless laugh bursting from his lips, “I was supposed to _kill_ you. As it turned out, I failed miserably, and my empathy that Jack treasured so much is worthless.”

“You are not worthless.” Hannibal said, “And neither is your empathy.”

“What makes you so sure?” Will asked.

“Because,” Hannibal said, leaning forward to stare into Will's eyes, “If you hadn't failed, I wouldn't have you here with me now.”

Will sighed, averting his eyes to the floor.

“Come here.” Hannibal said, patting the couch cushion next to him, “Sit with me.”

Will hesitated for a moment before rising from the pillow he had been seated on. He took a seat on the couch only a few inches from where Hannibal lounged against the arm of the couch.

“There, much better.” Hannibal said, patting Will's knee, “Relax and enjoy the evening.”

Will shifted his gaze to Hannibal out of the corner of his eye. The v-neck sweater Hannibal wore, revealed the curve of his collarbones and small patch of chest hair. His legs were stretch out loose, but the material of his pants was pulled tight against his hips and crotch. Before he could ignore the urge, he reached over to rest a hand on Hannibal's knee. All the thoughts he'd been avoiding for the past three weeks swamped his mind as the palm of his hand absorbed the warmth of Hannibal's skin. The tremor that rested just beneath his spine set forth it's pin pricks of pleasure.

There was a beat of silence before Hannibal returned the gesture, placing his palm over the back of Will's hand. Will could feel Hannibal's eyes digging into him like fish hooks, but he refused to turn his head. The touch of their hands was almost too much to control, let alone the way Hannibal's eyes could devour him.

The fire crackled dimly. Wine drained past Hannibal's lips. The enduring burn of passion lingered in Will's belly as he fought bravely against the voices that had urged him since the beginning to surrender.

“More wine?” Hannibal asked, after a length of time.

“Sure.” Will replied, his voice emitting halting and hoarse.

Hannibal's hand didn't move from Will's as he leaned forward to grasp the wine bottle by the neck. Will blinked rapidly as his gaze worked over the tendons in Hannibal's forearm and the graceful caress of his fingers.

After three weeks on the run, he wondered if he were slipping into complete insanity. Reality was some off-colored version of his previous life, altered and distorted, almost unrecognizable. As if someone had taken a can of paint to a work of art and started a new scene on top of the still drying liquid. He couldn't trust the promises and decisions of his former self.

“Drink.” Hannibal suggested, putting the glass in Will's hand, “It will help you relax.”

“What makes you think I need to relax?” Will asked, a bit too briskly.

“You're perspiring.” Hannibal replied.

Will instinctively passed a hand over his forehead, but felt only a mild dew of sweat.

“I can smell it.” Hannibal added, taking a casual sip of his wine.

Will pulled his hand out from under Hannibal's and jumped up from the couch.

“What else can you smell?” He blurted, though fearful to hear the answer.

“Must I tell you?”

When Will spun around to face him, Hannibal observed him with the same cool exterior he always displayed. His hands loosely grasped the wine glass, his long legs casually folded at the ankles, and his eyes pinned Will with the objectivity of a therapist.

Will averted his gaze and stared at the floor for several moments before breaking into motion.

“I'll take these to the kitchen.” He mumbled.

Setting his wine glass aside, he grabbed the empty plates from the table and stacked them in his arms. It was a brief excuse, but just the one he needed. He escaped into the kitchen, where the process of loading the dishwasher gave him a moment to organize his thoughts.

It was like they were performing a dance together, pressing close, spinning away, pursuing, evading, all while remaining silent about the desires between. It left him breathless, exhausted. What terrified him the most was that there would come a time when he would give up fighting – just like before.

“Do you need help?”

Will's head jerked up to see Hannibal standing in the doorway.

“I've got it.” Will replied, shoving the dishwasher closed and jabbing the start button.

The silence between them filled with the rhythmic whir of the dishwasher.

“Will, we must talk.” Hannibal said, breaking away from the door, “Find some place between us where we can discuss-”

“Like therapy?” Will asked, sharply.

“No.” Hannibal said, dipping his head, “Like friends.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I'm happy to spend the rest of my life in silence.” Will replied, his jaw growing taut against the emotion in his throat.

“You must admit to yourself the things you are feeling. The healthiest person is the man who can admit his deepest flaws and desires and live with them, because he realizes they are a vital part of him.” Hannibal said, pausing just inches in front of Will, “We are here now, Will, and no amount of silence can change that.”

“I wasted enough time pretending I didn't have the same urges you do.” Will replied, “I gave it all to you when we killed the Red Dragon on top of that bluff. I know my own flaws.”

“What about the ones that haven't been satisfied yet?”

“I'm not aware of any.” Will said, firmly.

“They're there, trust me.” Hannibal murmured, “Lurking just beneath the surface, frothing and writhing in the dark . . .”

The sharp brown of his eyes burned hot enough to melt Will's skin. It was just enough to push Will away from the counter and back toward the living room. His chest lurched as Hannibal caught his wrist, pulling back and around. Will came face to face with Hannibal, his breathing faltering as Hannibal braced a hand behind his neck.

“It's below me to beg.” Hannibal said, his voice low and coarse, “And it would be rude of me to force you …. so you see we have reached an impasse, but one I am willing to endure until you have finally placed your trust in me.”

“You want me to trust you?” Will whispered, neck straining against Hannibal's grasp.

“I promise you, you'll find no one else as reliable as myself. As my friend, you are entitled to my loyalty in full … a complete exchange of power.”

“I don't have any power left.” Will whispered.

Hannibal released him and Will rushed out of the kitchen, his heart hammering. He didn't stop until he was behind his bedroom door, safe for the moment.

 


	4. Music Memory

The song began as a few simple notes strung together, fingertips barely striking the ivory keys to elicit the softest, most somber strains. Hesitant, yet earnest, it lingered on, forming several measures that seemed to him like a requiem. With sudden great force the player struck down, ringing the notes loud and abrupt through the house, a defiant burst against the sadness.

Will shuffled around the corner to look into the sitting room. Half-sunlight glinted off the hard wood flooring and cast the piano and player in a golden halo. Hannibal's broad shoulders hunched and flexed as his fingertips danced across the keys. His head dipped sharply as the emotion swelled from the song, a tune which now rushed as if in a race against time to be heard by feelings that slipped away all too soon.

Will's eyes latched onto Hannibal's figure, a work of art in it's nudity and dripping wet from a recent shower. The playing was but a side note to the palette of creamy, bronzed skin and the strength that rippled just beneath it. His hair lay in wet strands against his neck, dripping tiny rivulets of water that streamed between his flaring shoulder blades and traveled at a leisurely pace down to the base of his spine.

Licking his lips convulsively, Will took a few steps forward. His stocking feet made little sound to rival the piano's gusto as he moved closer to his unaware companion. Hannibal's focus remained constant on the keys beneath his fingertips, his head nodding with impassioned sincerity. As Will drew closer, he glanced over Hannibal's shoulders to view the long, nimble fingers dancing across the piano keys, and the veins pumping like a vibrant web along the backs of his hands and forearms.

Drawing in a shallow breath, Will reached out a trembling hand and barely touched Hannibal's back with his fingertips. The passionate playing broke off into a short burst of disjointed notes before halting all together. Hannibal turned sharply, his hand snagging Will's wrist before Will could withdraw. His fingers locked tight, drawing a small whimper from Will's lips.

Hannibal's startled expression smoothed after a few moments, “Will, I didn't hear you come in.”

“I'm sorry.” Will replied, ducking his head, “I didn't want you to stop playing, but you looked so ...”

Hannibal allowed a tiny smile to tug at his lips, “I was nearly done. I will go dress and if you like, I shall play you another.”

Will nodded, “I'd like that.”

“I'll be right back.”

Will pursed his lips as Hannibal rose from the bench, giving Will and unabashed view of his naked body. He wasn't hiding the smirk that curled his lips either.

Will sank to the bench as Hannibal departed the room. It took several moments for Will to crush the rush of adrenaline that let loose through his veins and raced down to his crotch.

Hannibal had asked Will to trust him, and maybe, one day, he could do that. It was the deeper desires, the ones he hadn't admitted to himself, that he couldn't accept.

Will chewed at his lip as he softly placed his fingers on the keys. With a tap of his finger, he drew a low, resonating note from the piano. The sound echoed faintly before leaving him in silence. He touched the keys again, this time all four fingers one after the other. The notes hummed lower and lower until his pinky touched a bass note that vibrated through his chest.

“Have you ever played?”

He glanced up sharply to see Hannibal striding across the floor, dressed in black slacks and wine red sweater.

“No.” Will replied, “I understand the basics, but I was never compelled to teach myself.”

“I began lessons as soon as I was old enough to understand how a musical scale works.” Hannibal replied, “My mother insisted.”

“You've never told me about your her.” Will remarked as Hannibal slid onto the bench next to him.

“I remember very little about her.”

“She's not in your memory palace?” Will asked.

“Not in a room I open very often.” Hannibal replied, briskly, “And now, for your piece. What would you like me to play?”

“Something calm.” Will replied, “Soothing.”

Hannibal thought for a few moments before placing his fingers on the keys. Will tracked those long, graceful fingers as they began a soulful serenade, a tune that perfectly fitted Will's description.

“You told me once you never knew your mother.” Hannibal remarked, “What of your father?”

“He was a simple man, just trying to make a living. I never realized we were poor until I moved to the big city.” Will replied, “Music like this was … extra. We lived with just the basics and not much more.”

“What a loss.” Hannibal replied, “Music is a staple of basic life for me. The opera has kept my soul alive countless times.”

“He did his best.” Will said with a shrug.

“Shall I teach you?”

“To play the piano?” Will asked, his eyebrows rising.

“Of course. You said you already understand the basics. All that is left is learning tunes.” Hannibal murmured.

He drew the song to a slow end and let his hands fall to his lap. Silence lengthened between them as he turned a penetrating gaze to Will.

“I … ah ...” Will stammered, running an anxious hand through his hair.

“I will guide your hands.” Hannibal said, rising from the bench, “Put your hands on the keys.”

Will gave a quiet, defeated sigh and placed his hands on the piano. His heart jumped as Hannibal pressed up behind him and settled his hands over the backs of Will's.

“Very simple tune to start with.” Hannibal murmured, his breath hot against Will's ear, “Chopsticks is one of the first songs taught to piano students.”

Will sucked in a breath as Hannibal's hands moved his fingers across the keys, creating short, halting notes that failed miserably in comparison to the mastery Hannibal's fingers usually dedicated to the keys. Will's fingers felt thick and useless beneath Hannibal's touch, and his mind strayed anxiously from Chopsticks. Hannibal's embrace was warm and nurturing, sending a surge of heat into Will's belly. He couldn't ignore the steady breaths in his ear, or the warmth that Hannibal's breath washed down his neck.

“You're a natural.” Hannibal remarked, his tone laced with a smirk.

“I … I don't think so ...” Will choked out, “This is actually really bad.”

“It's your first time.” Hannibal soothed, “I'm going easy on you.”

“Maybe you should be more forceful.” The words slipped from Will's tongue without a second thought.

Heat flared up his neck the moment the careless comment and what implications it could have reached Hannibal's ears. He felt Hannibal stiffen and his breathing catch. The playing came to a halt.

“Will, I can't help but notice your scent.” Hannibal murmured, his face dipping against heated flesh.

“What scent is that?” Will asked, hoarsely.

“Musk.” Hannibal whispered, his voice like crushed gravel, “It's quite distinctive.”

Will swallowed desperately, “I, uh, I'm sorry ...”

“Don't apologize.” Hannibal replied, “I rather enjoy it.”

He hovered behind Will, one hand resting loosely on Will's shoulder as he inhaled the scent of Will's hair.

“I think this is a bad idea.” Will said, bolting from the piano stool.

“Learning to play piano is never a bad idea.” Hannibal said, his expression holding a risque charm.

“I have to, um ...” Will stammered, his his voice cracking in the midst of a poorly formed excuse, “... go.”

He spun and marched out of the room, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. Hannibal seemed unconcerned, for moments after Will departed, he began to play with earnest passion once more, a melody Will thought he knew from some distant memory of sticky skin and youthful groping. That evening, concealed in his bedroom, he gingerly slipped his hand beneath the silk pajama shorts and found release with that saccharine tune on repeat in his head.

 

 


	5. Necessary Companionship

It was a new Moon, no light except for the stars. The scent of saltwater and fish from the docks was thick in the air, even in the streets half a mile from the beach. Under the blanket of storm clouds and mist that so often plagued this area, the suburb lacked life and activity. The atmosphere was stale, sedentary, no music or art.

Hannibal had little love for the United Kingdom – he preferred Europe much better – but this little town on the shore of the English Channel was only a stop over until their arrangements in Greece were confirmed.

Tonight's hunt would be the last here in Birling Gap, England.

The streets were vacant as he parked a block from the house and began his walk down the sidewalks he had already surveyed. In the distance, a dog barked, it's shrill yapping grating on Hannibal's nerves. He had never been entirely fond of pets; animals belonged out in the wild, not living in lavish conditions better than some humans could afford. It was only Will's insistence that dogs were a man's best friend that made him reconsider.

Upon reaching the house, he circled to the back, where he found a fist sized rock perfect for his needs. He shattered the back window with one well-placed blow and reached inside to flip the latch open. He paused for a moment, ears straining for any sort of noise, but the house was silent. Swinging the window open, he hoisted himself up onto the ledge. Once inside, he palmed his gun and tread quietly through the house until he reached the bedroom door.

Easing the door open, he made out the layout of the room before putting a foot inside. His chosen meal was slumbering in the bed, producing loud snores and grunts as a dreamworld held him ignorant to the horrors that awaited.

Hannibal came to stand over the bed, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. The man had no idea how morning would find him.

Drawing in a deep breath, and letting a dark mood settle over him, Hannibal extended the gun to let the tip of the barrel rest under the man's chin. He pressed just hard enough to interrupt his victim's sleep and uttered soft, “Wake up.”

The man's eyes jolted open, a gasp rolling from his lips.

“Shh,” Hannibal murmured, leaning closer, “I want you to do exactly as I tell you.”

“Okay, okay.” The man whimpered, “Please, don't hurt me.”

“Get up out of the bed.” Hannibal ordered, ignoring the pathetic whimpering.

He stood back, keeping the gun level with his victim's head as the man sat upright, shivering and on the verge of sobbing.

“What do you want? Money?” He asked, having the gull to lift his eyes, “You can have all of it, just please-”

“Shut up.” Hannibal replied, calmly and precisely.

The man lifted his hands higher, ducking in surrender.

“Get up and walk with me into the living room.” Hannibal ordered, waving the gun toward the door.

The man rose from the bed and shuffled toward the door, keeping his head down and his arms raised. He was shaking from head to toe, and that pleased Hannibal. The stank of fear was thick, bitter as it was sweet, the strongest scent Hannibal could distinguish.

When they reached the living room, Hannibal came to stand in front of the man, holding the gun to his head.

“Where is the money?” He asked.

“I-I keep a small stash in the safe in my bedroom closet.” The man admitted, quickly, “I have some nice watches too; you can take them all-”

“I'll take whatever I like.” Hannibal murmured.

With that, he shot the man through the forehead, barely blinking when a few drops of blood landed on his cheek. The man's body hit the ground with a dull thud, laying him to rest on his back, his eyes frozen wide open as blood pooled from the back of his head and into the carpet.

Hannibal went to work immediately, cutting open the side to take the organs he treasured most. The liver and kidneys were easy; he exerted the extra effort to reach up into the chest cavity for the heart. It was worth it, considering he hadn't had fresh meat on the table for nigh on a month.

By the time he finished harvesting the organs, the blood raced like a flood through his veins, laced with ferocious adrenaline. The scent of blood cloyed in the air, tangy and coppery, a familiar fuel to the fire in his veins.

With the precious meat collected, he stood back and emptied half a dozen shots into the man's chest and stomach, effectively obliterating the precise incisions he had made. The shots would most likely draw the attention of neighbors and police.

He worked quickly, blasting open the safe with another round from the gun, taking the money, and the watches the victim had eluded to. He plucked a gold chain with a delicate cross pendant from the dresser, smiling as he pocketed the man's possessions.

He was preparing to leave through the window when the patter of tiny feet and a small whine altered him to the dog bed in the corner. He'd been so focused on his victim, he hadn't noticed the little black terrier that nearly blended into the shadows.

The dog gazed up at him with black, liquid eyes, panting and wagging it's tale at the man who had just murdered it's master.

“You're going to be homeless from now on.” Hannibal said, taking a step closer to the dog, “All alone in the world.”

The dog gave a tiny bark, his front paws leaving the ground in oblivious excitement.

“I know someone who would take care of you.” Hannibal added, kneeling down and extending his hand, “You'd like that wouldn't you?”

The dog took a few steps closer, sniffing eagerly, tail batting so fast his whole body shook.

“Come.” Hannibal said, clicking his tongue softly.

The dog surged forward, tiny paws bouncing up onto Hannibal's thigh. He gave a eager bark, begging to be petted by the same hands that had disemboweled his owner.

“All right, then.” Hannibal said, taking the small dog under his arm, “But make too much noise and you'll end up like your owner.”

He went out through the window and walked briskly to the car. The street was already lighting up as the neighbors wondered about the gunshots. It wouldn't be long before the street was teeming with police.

Hannibal leisurely pulled away from the curb and drove under the speed limit until he had left the neighborhood. Much to his surprise, the dog sat in the passengers seat, relatively calm and quiet. He had almost hoped the dog would tempt him with yapping and annoyance; it wasn't within his nature to be merciful or even kind. The pet would go down as another black mark by Will's name.

Hannibal drove to edge of town until he reached the bridge that stood over a canal that fed into the ocean. Parking by the bridge, he slipped out of his plastic suit and threw it in the back with the cooler he carried the fresh meat in. The dog watched him with large, expectant eyes as he gathered the money and the watches in his arms.

“Stay here.” He told the dog.

Stepping out of the car, he tilted his chin back to breathe in the scent of the ocean and the taste of summer in the air. The breeze from the ocean rolled in the tease his hair as he walked up to the highest point of the bridge. The water churned below him, surging out toward the ocean where a vast, sandy empire waited to claim the evidence.

He flung the money and watches over the edge, watching as the bills twirled through the air and the tiny, glass faces glinted in the dim lighting before plunging into the ocean's cold embrace.

When the police arrived at the house, it would look like a robbery gone wrong, something not uncommon in this poorer district. They would never know what greatness had touched their small, stinking neighborhood. But he would remember it as he sat at dinner, digesting the remains of one of the many victims worth more dead than alive.

 

~

 

Will groaned, squeezing his eyelids shut against the pestering that slowing tugged him from his sleep. He could tell that it wasn't quite morning yet, but eager panting, and the shove of tiny paws against his arm urged him to abandon sleep.

Will's eyes cracked open to see the small, furry face looming over him, blasting hot dog breath across his cheeks. He barely had time to squeeze his eyes shut again before the little dog swiped it's tongue affectionately across his cheek.

“What the …?” Will groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

He scrubbed a hand across his face and forced his eyes open to see Hannibal sitting on the edge of the bed, an absolutely self-satisfied smirk resting on his lips.

“I brought you something.” Hannibal said, motioning to the wiggling ball of fur shoving itself into Will's arms.

Will blinked in surprise as he rewarded the dog with lavish strokes across the top of it's head.

“You brought me a dog?”

“You said you missed your dogs, and this one was about to be homeless.” Hannibal replied, “It seemed obvious to me.”

“Wait, is this …?” Will's voice trailed off as he put the pieces together, “You just killed someone, didn't you?”

“Yes.” Hannibal replied, unapologetic.

“And took their dog?”

“Yes. For you.”

“Um … Thanks?” Will said, weakly.

“Name it what you like, but I think Botticelli is fitting.” Hannibal said, rising from the bed and turning to leave.

“Hannibal,” Will said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Hannibal paused, turning to gaze at him. There was a glimmer in his eyes, the masked hope of a child trying to impress the girl he liked.

“Thank you.” Will said, gathering the dog in his arms, “I didn't think you remembered that I missed my dogs.”

“You didn't think I cared.”

“No.” Will murmured.

“I, of all people, am intimately acquainted with the loneliness of this life.” Hannibal replied, “Companionship is a yearning of all humans. There's even some colleagues of mine that would stand by the opinion that it's a necessary part of life. Before we left Baltimore, I had art and the opera, you had your dogs. Companionship doesn't always have to be in the form of another human being, especially for people like you and me. It's not something I could forget or ignore. I know you better than you think, Will.”

Will offered him a smile, “I think Botticelli is perfect.”

 

 


	6. Gods In Us

For one day, the clouds parted and the sun showed its face to Birling Gap. The weather peaked at a pleasant degree, just warm enough to allow a dip in the ocean.

It was at Will's insistence that they packed a bag and ventured to the public beach, where dozens of people played in the water and enjoyed the warmth of the day.

Will eagerly dove into the water while Hannibal sat in a beach chair, holding Botticelli on his leash so that little dog didn't run off in the crowd of beach goers. He swam up and down the beach until his lungs burned from exertion and and his skin turned to a prune. He came up out of the water, soaking wet, his trunks hanging low on his hips.

“Why don't you enjoy the water?” He asked Hannibal as he toweled off most of the excess water.

“The water must be filthy. Must I regale you with fact-based stories and statistics about the amount of waste that is dumped into the oceans each year, not to mention the refuse generated by it's own natural inhabitants?” Hannibal replied from under the shade of his umbrella.

“It washes right off.” Will replied, taking a seat on the beach chair next to Hannibal's.

“I prefer to swim in a freshly chlorinated pool.” He glanced up and down the crowded beach, his upper lips curling in disdain, “There's far too many people here.”

“I'm just enjoying the simple fact that I can swim without worrying about this.” Will replied, motioning to his wound from the Red Dragon, almost fully healed by now, “It hardly hurts anymore.”

“If it becomes infected, I won't pity you.” Hannibal replied.

“You never pitied me anyways.” Will smirked.

He reached out for Botticelli, who ran circles in the sand by their chairs. The terrier darted to him, leaping into Will's outstretched arms and showering him in kisses.

“Who's a good boy?” Will cooed, scrubbing behind the dog's ears until the puppy began to whine and wiggle uncontrollably.

Hannibal shook his head and lifted his book from his lap. He appeared to be enthralled by the Italian novel, but Will could feel the burn of his gaze radiating from behind his sunglasses. Will stroked Botticelli's head a few more times before placing him back on the ground.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked, motioning to the kiosk just behind them.

“Certainly.” Hannibal replied.

“What do you want?”

“The best ale you can find, though I wouldn't expect to find a drink to suit my tastes completely in this place.” Hannibal replied, without glancing up from his book.

Will shook his head as he took off toward the kiosk. He didn't need many things in life to make him comfortable and happy. Hannibal's outlook amused him, though such snobbery should have frayed his nerves long ago. In anyone else, the attitude might have earned a slap to the face. Will wondered just how much influence they had over each other, whether the sway created a change, and if there would come a day when Will couldn't swim in a public beach anymore – inversely, if one day, he would be dragging Hannibal into the water after him. It was perhaps too much to hope for.

At the kiosk, Will ordered himself RumChata and a Landlord Pale Ale for Hannibal. His mind was still caught up in thoughts as he turned to carry the drinks back their beach chairs, so much so that he was paying little mind to what was in front of him.

He slammed directly into a man's chest, sloshing the drinks in his hands, and eliciting a shocked curse from the other man.

“What the bloody hell?”

“I'm sorry.” Will apologized, taking a reeling step back.

The man in front of him had the confidence of youth, a head of blond curls, and a chiseled body that boasted hours at the gym. He was flanked on either side by a handful of buddies, all of them bursting with muscle and eagerness for a fight.

“Who do you think you are?” The man's cockney British accent sharpened as he took a threatening step toward Will.

“I'm sorry, I didn't see you.” Will replied, clutching the drinks to his chest, “Excuse me.”

“Excuse you?” The young man pressed, taking a step to the side to block Will's exit, “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Will replied, his eyes narrowing, “And, frankly, I don't care. Now get out of my way.”

“Look at this bloke,” The young man said to his friends, “He thinks he's something.”

Will glanced over the man's shoulder, noting that the commotion had quickly drawn Hannibal's attention. He was striding across the beach, dragging Botticelli on the leash behind him.

“You should probably move.” Will said, turning his gaze back to the other man.

“Why? What are you gonna do about it? I see one of you, and six of us.” The boy continued, one hand shooting out to give Will's shoulder a shove.

Will took a stumbling step backwards, spilling more of the drinks on the sand.

“You really don't want to do that.” He said, watching as Hannibal marched up behind the group.

“Is there a problem here?” Hannibal's voice cut through the tension in the air, causing the group of teens to spin around.

“Who's this? Your daddy?” The leader asked, smirking.

“I said, is there a problem?” Hannibal demanded, shoving past two of the teens to get to Will's side.

Will was happy to stand back as Hannibal positioned himself in the middle of the conflict. He knew exactly how this confrontation would end, and most likely what they would be eating for dinner tomorrow night.

“Your little fuckboy spilled his drink on me, old man.” The teen replied, bracing his hands on his hips, “My dad's in the Parliament, you know. He could really fuck the two of you up.”

“That's very impressive.” Hannibal replied, his voice calm and cool, “He must be very proud of you, going around trying to rough up tourists and such.”

The teen's face twisted into a frown, “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm the one telling you to reconsider what you're doing.” Hannibal replied.

“Why would I do that?”

“You should also reconsider what you say about my friend.” Hannibal continued, ignoring the teen's indignation, “It's terribly convenient for you to search for a fight when in broad daylight, with all of your friends around, don't you think? Telling yourself it's going to look very good for you when all of your friends see you take on one helpless person; the stories would fly around school, I'm sure. But you already know that, don't you?”

Hannibal took a step closer the the arrogant boy, whose face had already descended from red-faced anger to blushing self-doubt.

“Children your age love a good story to pass around to their friends. You're quite the bully, aren't you?”

The teen cringed as Hannibal shifted closer, close enough for Hannibal to smell the erotic scent of fear.

“Do you know what the world loves more than a bully? … A bully being destroyed by someone bigger, stronger, more cruel than he could ever imagine to be. The stories fly just as fast when it's you who's on the ground, with a mouthful of sand, and my foot on your throat. So I'm asking you, stop and reconsider, which story will it be spinning through the rumor mill, growing more astounding and sour with every cycle.”

“You think you can take me?” The young man demanded, desperate to regain his composure.

“The answer isn't in what I think. It's in whether you want to risk it or not.”

There was a beat of silence. Will watched over Hannibal's shoulder as the teen struggled to hold his stare. After a few moments, his gaze broke off and he muttered to his friends, “Come on, guys, let's go. This grandpa isn't worth it.”

They scattered like leaves in the wind, until at last, Hannibal slowly turned to look at him.

“They didn't know any better.”

“Are they going to learn?” Will asked, extending the ale to Hannibal.

Hannibal took a slow sip and swiped the froth from his upper lip with a flick of his tongue.

“How would you like to go hunting with me tonight?”

Will felt a smile slowly spread across his face. Beach day wasn't such a waste after all.

 

~

 

It wasn't hard to find the kid.

With his insistence on his dad's position in the Parliament, and a flip through the area's high-end schools' yearbooks, it was almost child's play. Hannibal had located him, Harry Wentworth, within a few hours of the incident on the beach.

All they had to do was wait for nightfall.

As the moon was coming out, Will stood over the bed, gazing down at the full body plastic suit Hannibal had laid out for him.

“You got me one?” He asked.

“Of course.” Hannibal replied, “I always intended for you to join me.”

“Why haven't you asked before?” Will asked.

“You weren't ready.” Hannibal replied, sidling up behind Will. He rested his hands on Will's hips, employing a soft touch that made Will shiver, “You are now.”

“How do you know?” Will asked, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Hannibal.

“I just do.” Hannibal replied with a smirk, “I know everything about you, Will.”

“Everything?” Will asked, breaking out of Hannibal grasp to face him, “I might argue that point.”

Hannibal perused Will up and down, suppressing a longing ache in his groin.

“You test my limits.” Hannibal murmured.

It would appear weak to ignore Will's goading when his needs were showing so obviously. Better to lay it all out on the table, despite the pang of embarrassment.

“You draw them too close.” Will countered, “And make them too obvious. It's low-hanging fruit.”

“You want to humiliate me?” Hannibal asked, reaching up to touch Will's chin.

“Maybe.” Will murmured, “If that's the only way I can control you.”

“I'm offering you partnership.” Hannibal pointed out, “We can be equals, Will. You don't have to control me.”

“As you pointed out, you know everything about me.” Will replied, “I don't think you would argue with me if I said the same about you. We'll never be equals; not when you're always playing dirty.”

“Playing dirty suggests your opponent is on the same level to begin with.”

“You're on a higher level than the whole world?”

“Except you. Through time, effort, and circumstance I have elevated you, and you have clawed your way here.” Hannibal replied with a hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“I'll believe it when I see it.” Will replied.

He snatched his plastic suit from the bed and skirted around Hannibal, leaving Hannibal to exercise deep breathing and adjust the throbbing erection straining against his pants.

 

~

 

An hour later, they were parked a block from the penthouse they knew Harry Wentworth was staying at. Will found it disgusting a teen should have his own place like this, but also convenient since he and Hannibal could do their work without interruption.

“So, what's the plan?” He asked.

“We go in, we kill him, we take the meat, and leave.” Hannibal replied.

“That's it? No disguising it?” Will asked.

“It will be an isolated incident.” Hannibal replied, “No evidence, no trail. Even if the FBI gets wind of it, we'll be in Greece within days.”

“You don't really have a plan, do you?” Will said as they stepped out of the car, “It's all a guessing game.”

“Not entirely.” Hannibal replied, “I see potential in every day; I'm curious how the world works, and whether it's pre-ordained. Should I change one thing, influence one person, would it all happen the same way, or have I altered the universe?”

“Playing God.” Will remarked.

“God has moments of mercy.” Hannibal replied, “I have no use for it.”

Their discourse slipped into silence as they walked side by side toward the pent house. Will shivered at how normal this moment felt, how comfortable he was walking down the side walk in the dead of the night, in a plastic murder suit, ready – no, eager – to slash this arrogant kid to bits, with Hannibal at his side. His former self would have been disgusted and terrified; but that person no longer existed.

They went in through a window since there would be an alarm system going off if they went through the front door. As Hannibal went for the stairs, Will glanced around at the lavish surroundings, the expensive furniture, the abstract paintings, the massive TV screen and the surround sound system.

“He has so much.” Will remarked, “He should have been happy not to ask for more.”

“He'll remember that, right before I cut his throat.” Hannibal replied.

Will turned to follow Hannibal up the stairs, his heart pounding like a band of drums in his chest. The blood surged through his veins, every sense heightened to a sharp point. His skin tingled with excitement, need roaring just beneath the surface.

Hannibal paused when they reached the bedroom door.

“He sleeps unaware in his bed; it would be much too easy to slash his throat immediately. Resist that urge, Will.” He whispered, pinning Will with a stern gaze, “This is your first hunt; it's all fresh and seductive, but you must maintain control to maximize the experience.”

“Okay.” Will whispered, haltingly.

He could barely hear what Hannibal was saying over the roar of adrenaline in his ears, but he agreed to appease Hannibal. The urges were crawling up his spine and nesting in his brain, spawning rapid bursts of imagination, flashes of what they might do once Hannibal opened the door.

Hannibal swung the door open and charged inside. Will entered after him, eyes wide and enthralled as Hannibal yanked the kid from his bed, swinging him to the floor with a loud thud.

Harry startled awake mid-air, arms flailing just before he hit the carpet. He gave a shout of surprise that was quickly cut off when Hannibal's fist came swinging downward, slamming against his jaw.

Harry curled up on the floor moaning, and clutching his jaw, “What the fuck ….”

“Hello, Harry. So good to see you again.” Hannibal said, holding out his knife to touch the teen's chin.

“What the …?” The exclamation of shock was cut off as the kid lifted his head to see Hannibal and Will towering over him, “You ...” He whispered, “Oh my god ….”

“God's not going to help you.” Will replied.

“Oh, please...” Harry cried, scrambling backwards across the carpet, “Please, I'm sorry!”

Hannibal and Will followed him, clutching their knives.

“Sorry isn't good enough.” Will whispered.

Harry stumbled backwards until he found the nightstand. Grabbing onto the lamp, he came up swinging, catching Will in the side of the head and barely missing Hannibal. Will crashed to the ground, his temple on fire. He could feel blood pouring from his head as he looked up to see Harry struggling with Hannibal.

Will forced himself up as the two traded blows, crashing across the room, smashing objects in their wake. Swiping the blood from his eye, Will stumbled to his feet and lunged onto Harry's back. His arms latched around the kid's neck and his feet left the floor as Harry tried in vain to shake him off. Hannibal pushed off the wall, his hand clutching a sports trophy from the shelf above him. He rushed at Harry, wielding the trophy across the kid's head. Will felt him stumble and then fall backwards, crushing Will between his body and wall. Will wiggled free and stepped around Harry's wilting stance to join Hannibal.

Will raised his knife and took a step forward, but Hannibal grabbed his arm.

“Don't.” He whispered from between bloody lips, “He isn't done.”

Will watched with swelling arousal as Harry pushed upright from the wall and came at them fists raised. He swung at Hannibal, missing once before catching Hannibal's jaw with the other hand. He dove past Hannibal to the door and ran out into the hallway.

Will gave chase, feet pounding down the hallway, making out Harry's figure in the dark ahead of him. He pushed himself as fast as he could, rounding the corner just in time to see Harry at the top of the stairs. Adrenaline surging, Will didn't think twice before launching himself into a jump that propelled him through the air and onto Harry's back just as the teen began his descent down the stairs. Will's body slammed into him, combining their momentum to disrupt any balance Harry had left. They tilted forward, bodies plummeting under the force of gravity, and dashing on the flight of steps below. They both yelled in pain as they rolled down the last half of the stairs, bodies slamming against the harsh corners of the steps, bouncing and gaining speed with every turn.

At last, they spilled across the entry rug, broken and bleeding, Will's arms still tangled around Harry's neck. It took several moments for either of them to work through the pain enough to start moving, much less begin fighting in earnest again.

Will clung to Harry's neck as he glanced up at the front door, just yards away. If he let go now, Harry could finding his footing and escape. And Hannibal would be terribly disappointed with him.

The tread of footsteps above them drew Harry's and Will's eyes to the top of the steps. Hannibal loomed above them, making his way slowly, menacingly down the stairs. His dark eyes pinned to their victim, malicious intent and grim satisfaction resting on his bloodied face. His hair hung disheveled over his forehead, several strands soaked in blood and his lips curled back in bloody smile, giving him the appearance of an animal enjoying the kill. His knife hung loosely from one hand, relaxed but determined.

“No, no, please ...”

Will could hear Harry whining as the teen struggled to free himself from Will's grasp. Will tightened his arm across the kid's throat, his muscles burning as he held their prey still for what would be the night's crowning moment.

Hannibal reached the base of the stairs, pausing for a moment over two the bloodied and bruised men on the floor below him.

“You have some much here.” He said, motioning to their luxurious surroundings, “You should have been content with it.”

At the close of that remark, he drove downward, cocking the knife back above his head. The blade glinted bright in the dim light before slicing through the air and producing a wet noise of impact as it buried into Harry's stomach.

Will squirmed out from underneath Harry's trembling body and rose to his feet. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet Hannibal's. Their gazes locked, exchanging a silent message of praise and adoration.

“Finish him.” Hannibal said.

Smiling grimly, Will grabbed Harry by the collar and hoisted him to his knees. He wrapped his arm around the kids' forehead, forcing him to look up at Hannibal.

“Please, don't kill me ...”

Will placed the edge of his knife softly against the boy's throat.

“Oh my god! Please, please, I'll do anything!” Harry cried, tearing pouring down his cheeks.

“You were right.” Will whispered in his ear, “I am his … But not in the way you think.”

With a jerk of his wrist, he slashed the knife across their victim's throat, opening up the flesh from ear to ear. Blood sprayed from the wound, showering Hannibal and pouring down the front of Harry's silk pajamas.

Will glanced up to see Hannibal staring at him, his eyes black like ink and burning with need that could be disguised as nothing else but lust. Will slowly let go of Harry's head, allowing the boy's body to fall like a sack of grain to the ground, pouring blood into the expensive rug.

Will dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor as Hannibal rushed forward to gather him into his arms. The initial rush of adrenaline cleared his veins, allowing the various pain of his injuries to throb like fire through his body. He leaned gratefully against Hannibal's chest, his fingers clutching the shoulders of Hannibal's plastic suit.

“Words escape me.” Hannibal whispered, clutching Will's face and gazing lovingly into his eyes, “You were perfect.”

“He almost got away.” Will whispered.

“No,” Hannibal smiled, “There was never any danger of that.”

“You wanted to test my limits?” Will asked.

Hannibal stroked Will's cheek, finding the tender spots where bruises blossomed. Will winced at the ache, knowing Hannibal would find it beautiful.

Hannibal pressed a kiss to Will's forehead, tasting the blood dripping from where Harry had hit him with the lamp. After a moment, he nuzzled his forehead against Will's, sighing in satisfaction.

“It's the only way I can make you trust me.”

 

~

 

Will's eyelids fluttered open to the morning light slanting through the curtains. He slowly raised a hand to block the light. His head tilted to the side as his fingers came into focus, caked with blood down past the wrist.

He lifted his head from the pillow as the memories slowly filtered back into his brain. Memories of blood, and surges of power. The image of Hannibal standing over him and Harry right before they delivered the killing blows was ingrained in his mind.

“You're awake.”

Will jumped, his head jerking over to see Hannibal lying next to him, spattered with blood the same as Will.

“So are you.” Will remarked.

His eyes strayed from Hannibal's face, down to his chest where the blood-stained shirt lay half, open. The stench of blood was thick in the air, combining with Hannibal's drenched appearance to make Will light-headed with dizzying need.

He tamped down the ache that suddenly prospered between his legs, and rose from the bed.

“We should get a shower … I mean, showers ...” He stammered.

“Will,” Hannibal said, pushing himself up from the bed, “Come here.”

Will drew in a shuddering breath. Hannibal's tone was low and possessive, like the growl of an animal in heat. There was no room for objection.

Will gingerly made his way back to the bed, his knees weak the whole time. The memory of what they had done together came together clearly in his mind, sharp like shards of glass digging into his brain.

“What?” He whispered, breathless.

Hannibal grabbed his wrist, so tight it hurt. Will whimpered as Hannibal drew him closer, his other hand clamping onto Will's hip.

“You were everything I could have asked for last night.” Hannibal whispered, gravelly and hoarse, “And so much more.”

“Thank you.” Will whispered, weakly.

“Look at me.”

Will carefully lifted his eyes to meet Hannibal's.

“I heard what you said to him.” Hannibal murmured, “That you're mine, but not how he thought.”

Will swallowed hard. He could hardly remember what had possessed him to say it. Most of the previous night seemed like a dream; the evidence that it was not was spattered and dried to his skin, a condition water, but not memories, could wash away.

“In what way do you think you're mine?” Hannibal pressed.

“I … I don't know.” Will whispered, “In a way that you'll kill anyone who even look at me the wrong way … That you'll protect me even when you're putting me in danger. That you'll never let me go.”

Their eyes met, Will's wide and tender, Hannibal's dark and raw with need.

“Is that all?” Hannibal asked, his grip on Will turning to a vice.

Will licked his lips convulsively, tasting dried blood, “That you'll chase me, even when I run away.” He added, breathlessly, “Want me, even when I torment you …”

“How would you do that?”

Will bit back a whimper as Hannibal's fingers crushed his wrist. He squirmed, his other hand bracing against Hannibal's chest.

“Denying you.” He panted, staring into Hannibal's ravenous eyes, “Denying you when you want to ravage me.”

Hannibal's gaze sharpened to a feral point, like one of his knives burying itself in Will's brain. Will's chest burned as his lungs refused to take in oxygen; his whole body stood rigid, waiting, his mind churning through all the places that remark could possibly take them.

Suddenly, Hannibal let out a breath and relaxed his grip on Will's wrist. He slowly brought Will's hand closer to his face, perusing the blood coating the fine hairs of his forearms, and caking every tiny rivet in his skin.

Will trembled softly as Hannibal pressed his mouth to Will's knuckles.

“You … You have ways of overpowering me … even when I deny you.” Will whispered, “Why don't you just take what you want? It seems like that's what you normally do.”

“Take?” Hannibal's eyes lifted to meet Will's. This time they were the soft, intense black melted to liquid brown, “Will, there are so many facets of our beings that can be ripped from us, so many physical possessions that can strip away our identity. If I so desired, I could take those physical things from you; but it's not the physical I so desire. What I ache for is something only you can give me of your own free will.”

Will swallowed hard, his fingers curling around Hannibal's, “You manipulated me before. The therapy, the seizures and black outs ...”

“I've honed my skills manipulating the mind.” Hannibal said. Releasing Will's hand, he gave a solemn smile, “The heart is a different matter.”

 


	7. Kismet

The sun was just going down, sending glorious shades of pink and deep blue streaking across the endless sky. Far beyond the white house on the beach, the horizon met with the ocean, where a gentle tide rolled ever on toward the Grecian shore. Hannibal considered himself blessed to catch this view their first night in their new home.

He nursed a glass of Merlot by the window as he pondered the landscape. By his own tradition, he should be adding new sketches of Greece to his portfolio, but he was yet to sharpen his pencil.

“Botticelli promptly fell asleep in the middle of the bed.” Will announced, entering the living room wearing a broad grin, “We might have some peace and quiet now.”

“How you lived with six of them, I'll never know ...” Hannibal's remark trailed off as he turned to meet Will's gaze.

His focus quickly faltered off of Will's eyes to the rest of his body. He wore loose-fitting sweatpants, and his chest was bare in between changes of clothes. He wrestled a plain white shirt onto his arms, his body twisting and flexing as he pulled the shirt over his head.

As the shirt cleared his head, leaving his curls askew, Will caught Hannibal's penetrating stare.

“What?”

“I'd like to draw you.” Hannibal replied, hardly hesitant to voice his thoughts, “An original concept from a live model.”

Will brushed his hair out of his eyes, momentarily hiding the blush on his cheeks, “Okay ...”

“Now,” Hannibal added, “While the mood is set.”

There were a few beats of silence before Will asked, “Shouldn't we wait for day, when the lighting is ...”

“I prefer the shadows.” Hannibal replied, taking a sip of his wine, “It's natural, seductive, and an enduring technique from the Renaissance.”

Will licked his lips, “Okay.”

“This isn't required, Will.” Hannibal said, leaving his drink on the window sill and approaching Will, “You can say no if you're uncomfortable.”

“No, I know you've drawn me before.” Will replied, a smile tilting his mouth, “In the Botticelli.”

“That was from memory.” Hannibal murmured, drawing close enough to taste the shallow breaths leaving Will's lips.

Will's eyes were wide and glinting in the fading daylight, “Will it be a nude drawing?”

“Would you like it to be?” Hannibal countered.

“If you need it to be.”

They fell into a hushed stare. Hannibal could hear the roar of silence, the crackle of tension like electricity between their bodies.

“I would like it to be,” Hannibal murmured, glancing down Will's body with a pleased smile, “An honest, raw representation of you in the _homo sapien_ ' _s_ most primal form.”

Will took a step back, fragmenting the spark pulling them together.

“Get your pencil and paper.” He said.

Hannibal's gaze lingered fiercely on his newly acquired model before he broke away to find his tools. As an expert artist, he had considered Will in a life model's light before, imagining how he would shape the lines, curves, and shadows with his pencil, how he would labor over every stroke of lead, insistent upon getting the exact angles and planes correct. He hadn't ever imagined Will would allow him the pleasure.

He returned to the living room with a notebook full of blank pages and drawing pencils. He pulled the table from the corner, leaving the objects it was meant to hold on the floor, and brought it in front of the couch so that he could have a flat surface to work from.

“How do you want me?” Will asked. The question was stated with blasé neutrality, but to Hannibal's ears they held a charged double-meaning.

“Lie on the couch.” Hannibal instructed, gripping at the reins of his control.

Will tugged his shirt off over his head, letting it fall ignored to the floor. He paused, his fingers teasing at the waistband of his sweatpants.

Hannibal pursed his lips, “Those as well.”

Will blushed softly in the fading light, but continued undressing promptly, as if it was Hannibal's command he had been waiting for. Hannibal drew in a steadying breath as Will slipped out of the pants and hooked his fingers under the elastic of his boxers. The hazy light of dusk seeped away; Hannibal's vision sharpened to fine point, surveying every inch of flesh as Will lowered the last fabric barrier.

Will's skin was pale like alabaster, and smooth as marble, a quality Hannibal had long since admired and adored. He was petite in the most appealing ways, the wide range of his eyes, the constantly rebellious tilt of his mouth, the rouge curls that danced across his forehead and neck. Yet in other ways, his body was the visual of an artist's perfect male model, muscles finely formed but not gratuitous, hair sparsely dusted and silky, hands soft and beautiful.

It was from an artist's perspective that Hannibal strove to continue admiring, lest his baser self should pull him into a marsh of tasteless objectification.

“Lie down.” Hannibal repeated, his voice expressing itself in a spineless wheeze.

Will settled to the cushions, his fingers anxiously gripping the edge of the couch.

“Put your right arm above your head, like you are fainting.” Hannibal instructed, gripping his pencil in a white-knuckled grip, “Left hand on your chest, fingers loose.”

Will followed his instructions, motions less than graceful in his bashfulness.

“Eyes to the ceiling.” Hannibal murmured, pleased by the pose, “You're seeing heaven in your dreams.”

Will's wide eyes blinked rapidly as he turned his chin up. His neck stretched out, exposed, slender, pale. Hannibal could see the pulse drumming out an intoxicated beat beneath the veneer of flesh.

He licked his lips and turned his attention to the blank paper before him. He intended to complete the drawing in one session; it would take quite a bit of time. It would be in his best interest to get his flawed desires under control before the urges became unbearable.

 

~

 

Half-way through the drawing, Hannibal paused to turn on Mozart. It had been three years since he'd drawn in the comfort of his own home, a good piece of classical composition in the background, the perfect model before him. He hadn't recalled until now just how much Mozart helped him focus.

The music still played softly in the background when Hannibal completed the drawing. The sun had sank into the horizon long ago, leaving the sky a solid, black palette dusted with gleaming pinpoints of stars. The atmosphere of the room lay like a wool blanket on top of them, suffocating as it was cozy.

Hannibal set his drawing pencils aside and brought Will one of his robes.

Will moved his arms for the first time in the last few hours. He stretched like a feline, his back arching to display lean muscles beneath taut, pale skin.

“Thank you.” He murmured, taking the robe.

Hannibal walked back to the table to set a critical eye to his work of art. It had it's flaws, but it was obvious the artist was full of passion and adoration for his model.

“How did it turn out?” Will asked, circling around behind Hannibal's chair.

He rested his hands on Hannibal's shoulders as he bent down to gaze at the drawing.

“What do you think?” Hannibal asked, turning his head to catch a glimpse of Will's profile.

Will bent close enough to drown his senses in smell and sensation, teasing Hannibal's lurking desire.

“It's beautiful.” Will murmured, “How do you do it?”

“I've drawn since my childhood.” Hannibal replied, “My earliest notebooks were filled with renderings of the Lithuanian landscape, my home, the townspeople … Mischa was my most avid model. Despite her age, she could sit for hours like a marble statue. Her reward was my completion of a piece.”

“Where are those drawings now?” Will asked.

“Long gone. I shall never see them again, except in my mind.” Hannibal replied, tamping down the surge of emotion that coiled instantly in his chest, “Along with the things they represented.”

“I wonder where this one will be in as many years.” Will pondered, leaning his backside against the table.

“Perhaps in a museum … something like Evil Minds I'm sure.” Hannibal quipped, offering a bare smile that concealed his pain at the thoughts of home.

“It belongs beside Picasso and DaVinci … and Blake.” Will smiled, ruefully.

“Blake's Dragon is gone.” Hannibal reminded him with a deep breath, “Just as I'm sure this rendering will be soon enough. Nothing lasts forever.”

Will's hand touched his arm as Hannibal rose from the chair, uncomfortable with the subject of conversation.

“No, I think some things do.” Will remarked, gazing firmly into Hannibal's eyes, “The metaphysical world is out there, beyond our comprehension. We all leave our indelible mark on this universe.”

“Written in the stars, Will? How clique.”

“From dust we came, and to dust we shall return.” Will shrugged, “It's quite scientific.”

“When my bones are in the ground, will my ashes still find their way to yours?” Hannibal murmured, “I think not. Eternity is not so kind.”

“Whatever eternity is,” Will replied, leaning closer, “it has no relation to this physical world. We can dream about what will happen to our ashes, and if it comforts us, we can take it as literal truth. The real truth won't matter when our souls are gone from our bodies. Fantasy can make us happy, even if it never becomes tangible.”

“Looking through the glass darkly.” Hannibal said, turning away, “Happiness is just one fallacy away.”

 

~

 

Later that evening, Will mixed ingredients for dessert and the island counter while Hannibal poured two glasses of wine. They were both quiet, and Hannibal could see that Will's thoughts were still anchored in their previous conversation.

“You seem troubled.” He said, at last breaking the silence that had endured since their drawing session.

“I'm still thinking about what we said earlier.” Will said, confirming Hannibal's guesses.

“What about it?” Hannibal asked.

“When we were back at the cabin, before we left the United States, you said something to me I haven't forgotten.” Will said, pausing from the mixing bowl, “You said, whatever I thought about you in that moment, it would change. In a year, my opinion would be completely different.”

“Is it true?” Hannibal asked.

“It hasn't been a year.” Will replied, “But my opinion has changed.”

“How so?”

“I've thought a lot about how we got here, our roles in the events, how one decision could have changed everything.”

“Like you not returning to help Jack catch the Red Dragon?” Hannibal suggested, extended a wine glass to Will.

Will accepted the drink and gazed down into the deep red liquid, “Like you said, is the universe pre-ordained? Can we change it? If we could, how much chaos do we actually cause?”

“You're wondering if the position we're in now was meant to be?” Hannibal asked, smiling slightly at the thought.

“Yes.” Will replied, blatantly honest, “At first, I was angry that we survived the fall. Then, I was resentful of my feelings toward you. Now, I'm just ….”

“Accepting it?” Hannibal interjected, breath hitching at the prospect.

“Trying to find an absolution, a meaning.” Will clarified, “If we're meant to be together, living this way, what's my say in it? If everything happens the way it should, why do we fight it?”

“I don't believe anything is set in stone, but there are oceans in this life, and in the oceans there's lakes and rivers and tributaries … Different paths to the same place.” Hannibal replied, taking a slow sip of his wine, “All roads lead to Rome, in a sense.”

“You think if I had stayed home with Molly and Walter that eventually you would have found me again, Red Dragon or not?” Will asked, his eyebrows rising as if he had never considered it.

“I'd like to think I have the power to obtain anything my heart desires.” Hannibal said, “Every drop of blood, every tear, every bead of sweat going towards one goal, one need.”

“You were in jail.” Will pointed out, “How would you have found me?”

“I would have found a way …. I _did_ find a way.” 

Their gazes met, taking the place of conversation. Will's lashes beat rapidly, like a bird's wings, struggling to take flight from danger. Hannibal could hear his breath catch, and smell the tinge of anxious sweat in his nostrils.

“I defy anything that calls itself Fate.” Hannibal murmured, reaching out to touch Will's cheek, “I refuse to be ruled by anyone but myself, but perhaps knowing you was kismet.”

“Knowing me …” Will replied, breathless, “What about falling in love?”

Hannibal pursed his lips tight against a scraped moan. Will's eyes looked right through his skull, seeing him, truly seeing him. It hurt, and yet it was the most beautiful, pleasurable ache Hannibal had ever experienced. There had always been defenses there, for other people, but not Will. He'd always been naked behind an unsteady guise of armor. If only Will had discovered his power a long time ago.

“That was … unavoidable.” Hannibal replied, hoarsely.

Will turned his cheek against Hannibal's touch, his lips brushing softly into the palm. Hannibal's heart galloped like a stampede of wild horses in his chest, creating a mad thunder in his ears. The world seemed to fall away except for one circle of light, originating from Will's eyes.

Hannibal leaned closer, his motion less than graceful. His lips parted, releasing a stream of pent up oxygen from his lungs, followed by a quiet sound of need. Will discarded his wineglass to the counter and reached out to clutch Hannibal's sides, his fingers curling around the fabric of Hannibal's shirt. Shifting closer, Hannibal tilted his head and dragging Will's face to the right angle, fitting their mouths together like pieces of puzzle.

The kiss was gentle, like the brush of butterflies wings, only a trace of moisture between them as Will's lips parted in placid acceptance. Hannibal leaned back almost imperceptibly, forcing the kiss to remain chaste and gentle. He did not trust himself to let his desires take complete control; he didn't trust himself not to do more harm than good.

For Hannibal, the kiss seemed to last an eternity, but when he pulled back, he felt Will pulling at his shirt as if to ask for more.

Hannibal let out a shaky sigh, and petted Will's face, “See?”

Will offered a weak smile and pushed his forehead against Hannibal's shoulder, “I see.”

 

 


	8. Where It's Calm

 

Nightfall came with a chill that rolled in from the sea. The scent of salt water seasoned the air, battling against the smell of food from street vendors that drifted to the city's edge. Foamy waves tossed against sand and rock. It was a lullaby of the ages, a timeless harmony between land and sea, a song to soothe the deepest ache. Sunset had long since passed over the low, white-bricked house that situated itself indelibly by the water. Ancient cobblestones led down to the ocean side, where a single figure lingered with his toes in cool, damp sand.

Hannibal tilted his head back to breathe the enamoring smells of the Mediterranean. His toes dug into the sand, pushing a sigh of pleasure from his lips. With his pant legs rolled halfway up his calves, his expensive wardrobe was not soiled by the clinging sand and saltwater, but his toes could thoroughly enjoy one of his favorite places on earth.

The open sea was full of possibility, and endless in it's treasures. There was a whole other world in the vast, choppy waters that transcended the mindless happenings of the humans that trampled the dirt.

“It's a full moon.”

Hannibal's eyes slid open to peer at Will. Earth was perhaps not so mindless after all. 

Will was dressed in distressed jeans and a baggy sweater that Hannibal quickly recognized as a missing piece from his own wardrobe. Since their departure from Baltimore, Will's hair had grown unchecked and stubble nearly covered the scar forming across his cheek. He smelled faintly of spices and musky cologne, a combination that did little to conceal the familiar scent of his untainted flesh.

“I never attributed behavior to the cycles of the moon.” Hannibal replied, “But I'm always open to possibilities.”

“It was a full moon that night ...” Will said, his eyes fixed to the sky.

Hannibal perused Will's pensive profile. After little consideration, he reached over slipped his fingers through Will's.

“Then consider it an anniversary.”

Will gave a grim chuckle, “Another month of life on the run.”

“Don't be boring.” Hannibal chided with an amusing smile, “I find it all quite fascinating and exhilarating.”

Will glanced down at their linked hands, “Then again maybe not.”

Hannibal did poor job of maintaining his composed demeanor. A smile stretched across his face as he dissolved into a childish, blushing mess. Embarrassing, but he'd martyr himself by means of humiliation over and over if it meant Will's acceptance of their mutual feelings. Will's resolve seemed to crumble bit by bit with each passing day. Since that moment in the kitchen, when they had exchanged that gentle kiss, Will hadn't pulled away every time Hannibal touched him, hadn't avoided the long glances of adoration, and hadn't been bothered when Hannibal leaned in his kiss his cheek or nuzzle his neck.

“Let's go in. I'm cold.” Will suggested, tugging on Hannibal's hand.

“All right.” Hannibal agreed, taking one last glance at the ocean, “This view can wait. Others can't.”

Will smiled, coyly, and turned to lead them up the path to the house. Upon reaching the door, Hannibal tried to dust the sand off his feet.

“It's been a long time since I enjoyed the beach.” He remarked, “I'd forgotten how the sand clings.”

“Stay there just a minute.” Will's voice drifted from the interior of the house.

The sound of water running swallowed up his next remark, leaving Hannibal stranded by the door for several moments before the faucet shut off. Will reappeared moments later, a wet towel in his hands.

Hannibal's heart took a lunge as Will knelt down in front of him.

“Lift your foot.”

Hannibal braced himself against the wall as he raised one foot. Will grasped his ankle and drew the towel over Hannibal foot. He didn't look up to see the mixed expression of shock and pleasure that crossed Hannibal's face as he cleansed the sand from his skin. The soft cotton towel was soaked in warm water, just warm enough to spark the flesh beneath it's ever pass.

Hannibal drew in a sharp breath as Will let his foot down.

“That's very kind of you. I can finish.” Hannibal said, extending his hand to take the towel.

Will paused, his hand halfway to Hannibal's other ankle, “I've got it.”

Hannibal swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He'd longed for physical contact with Will for so long, but something of this nature had never crossed his mind. The act was so innocuous and unexpected, he might have chuckled if their places were exchanged.

Will snatched his other foot from the floor before Hannibal could complete a second objection. The warm, wet embrace of the towel massaged his foot for a long moments until his head tilted back against the wall and a groan caught in his chest. He pursed his lips over the undignified sound. He hazarded a glance down at Will, hoping Will was too oblivious to realize what he was doing. It had always been that way between them, Will wandering unaware into his subconscious, Hannibal fighting to remain calm, back and forth, making him achingly ravenous. Even as Will grew more aware and open of their connection, he maintained the innocence and passive sensuality Hannibal had always been drawn to. It was the simplest things, like the washing of feet, that made Hannibal fall more hopelessly in love. It was quite honestly pathetic.

Hannibal jarred himself back into reality as Will rose to his feet.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Hannibal murmured, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“I know how you like to keep the house clean.” Will replied, offering a rare smile.

“It's of utmost importance.”

He drew in a soothing breath as Will shuffled back into the bathroom to discard the towel.

When he returned, Hannibal lounged on the couch with the TV remote, “Perhaps a film to complete the night?”

“What do you have in mind?” Will asked.

He plopped down on the cushions next to Hannibal, resting his head on Hannibal's shoulder. His soft, curly head settled warmly on Hannibal, causing Hannibal's breath to falter momentarily.

“Something classic.” Hannibal replied, forcing false leisure into his tone.

“Whatever you want.” Will said, obligingly waving a hand at the TV.

Hannibal turned on an old, black and white film of his choosing, but his attention wandered from the plot on the screen to the warm body next to him.

“Are you still cold?” He asked.

“A little.”

“Allow me?” Hannibal asked, holding his arm open.

Will hesitated for a brief moment before sliding closer and fitting himself under Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal's eyes slipped shut as Will's head came to rest against his chest, his body relaxed entirely against Hannibal's. He placed a delicate hand around Will's arm, giving lightest squeeze he could manage to pull Will closer.

Will let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He looked so content Hannibal had to swallow back a sound of delight.

They hadn't spoken of the kiss, and they hadn't acted further upon those urges since that night. It was a silent pact between them, one which caused Hannibal a fair amount of pain. He could have taken advantage of Will's vulnerability that night, but some scarce bit of morality had ensnared him. Until this moment, he had second-guessed that decision daily. He couldn't live with himself if he had allowed his one chance to pass him by.

“Your heart is racing.” Will whispered.

His hand settled on the center of Hannibal's chest, gentle but with the impact of a train.

“It's normal.” Hannibal replied, a veneer of cool nonchalance masking the tremor running through him.“The mark of a fast metabolism. It simply means I can enjoy the pleasure of my own cooking more often.”

“You made that up.” Will replied, turning his chin up to gaze at Hannibal with wide eyes, the color of the ocean.

“No, it's quite true ...”

“You don't have to lie to me.” Will murmured, “I think it's fair to say we've seen each other at our worst.”

“And best.”

“But mostly worst.”

“I like seeing you at your worst. It's your most honest self.” Hannibal replied.

He held his hand taut against a tremble as he reached up to touch Will's jaw. His fingers slipped through the prickle of facial hair before meeting with the smooth curve of Will's cheekbone and temple. He longed to kiss the spot, the closest he could get to a dazzling mind.

“But yours isn't.” Will said, lifting his head to gaze directly into Hannibal's eyes, “It's just cruel.”

“I won't hurt you anymore, Will.” Hannibal replied, “I think it's fair to say we forgive each other some time ago.”

“I know you won't. That's what surprises me.”

Will's fingers curled around Hannibal's wrist, dragging his hand down to Will's chest. Hannibal's breath caught; he was momentarily light-headed as his hand pressed over Will's heart, nails scratching the knit sweater between their skin.

“My heart used to race every time I saw you because I wanted to kill you with my bare hands.” Will murmured, his nails driving in Hannibal's wrist, “Now, I can just feel you in between the beats.”

“In between? Where it's calm?” Hannibal asked, tone hushed.

“Where it's gone too fast to second-guess.” Will replied, “I don't think about it, the feeling is just there. It's like there's this splinter in my chest, but it's not bleeding; it's just a dull ache that won't stop, won't allow me a second's reprieve.”

Hannibal's arm trembled as he resisted the urge to push Will onto his back and take him.

“What will help?” He asked, his voice steely against the incessant rush of adrenaline in his ears.

“I can't get you out of my head.” Will's voice shook, his tone growing faster despite the quaking of his lips, “When I wake up, you're there in my head. Every day, I look at you and wonder if this is meant to be and if I'm wasting my breath and energy fighting. At night, when I close my eyes, I wonder if that shadows can hide want I'm thinking, what I'm wanting … If I could just get away, I could … But I can't; we're trapped here. Together, conjoined, permanent. It's going to be for eternity; I'll never escape-”

“Will, stop.” Hannibal interrupted in a sudden burst of need. His fingers curled around the sweater, yanking Will to him. He gripped the back of Will's neck, his fingers tangled through loose, soft curls, “Just stop. Trust me.”

His resolve burst like a dam losing a single brick. It wasn't a decision as he had hoped it would be; it wasn't a desperate grasp to get that second chance. It just was.

He surged forward, his lips crushing against Will's, the momentum of his body taking them down to the floor. He released Will's shirt to clutch his face with both hands, pressing their mouths together in insatiable hunger. Will's hands grappled with Hannibal's shirt for a few dizzying moments before latching onto his waist, holding on rather than pushing away, much to Hannibal's relief.

Hannibal struggled to regain control of himself, pulling hard at the reins of his desire, but slowing the momentum of their passion by so little it hardly mattered. The most he could achieve was pulling back just enough to allow Will to respond to the heated kiss. When he did respond, Hannibal nearly lost himself to the raging storm of need pent up at his core and threatening to burst from his chest. Will's lips sucked warm and delicate beneath the torrent of Hannibal's affection, but no less powerful. The need and thirst for attention he had fought so hard now streamed past his lips and imprinted inside Hannibal's mouth as their tongues met.

The storm abated by a measure, just enough for their mouths to part. Both men panted heavily as their gaze met over wet, bruised lips.

“I want you to trust me completely, with everything, every part of you.” Hannibal whispered, fingers stroking at Will's cheek.

Will swallowed hard, “I-I do.”

“I said I would never force you.”

“You're not.”

“I won't do anything to you until you tell me to.” Hannibal added, trying vainly to reassure himself that he was still directing his own actions.

Will's head fell back against the floor and he let out a breath, “This is crazy,” he whispered, rubbing one hand over his forehead, “This is crazy, but I want you.”

“It's not crazy.” Hannibal whispered, dipping his head to kiss Will's neck, “It's what you want.”

“A few months ago I was trying to kill you ...”

“Forget about a few months ago. It doesn't matter anymore.” Hannibal whispered, nuzzling against Will's neck. The scent that rose from his skin overwhelmed Hannibal's senses, teasing the ache that rested rigidly between his legs.

“I told you I didn't want you this way ...” Will whispered, his cheeks raw with a blush.

“We all tell little lies to ourselves.” Hannibal replied, his heart surging with hope, “It makes it easier to live with ourselves, but it doesn't mean it's the truth.”

Will tilted his head back, allowing Hannibal to lavish his mouth across the expanse of soft, pale flesh. Will gave a quiet groan as Hannibal bared his teeth to the tender skin that barely covered a pounding pulse. It was barely a nip compared to the bite Hannibal wanted to take, but it was much too soon to draw blood.

“Just tell me what you want.” Hannibal whispered, “Tell me and I'll do it to you in a way you've never felt before.”

“I want you.” Will moaned, clutching onto his shoulders, “Everything … anything … I've thought about it so much, there's too many things ...”

Hannibal lifted his head to meet Will's needy gaze, “Then I'll start with what I want.”

Will's eyes widened as Hannibal shifted to his knees and took a firm hold of the front of Will's pants. It was a distinct pleasure to watch the mixture of panic and need that clutched Will as Hannibal channeled his impatience into forcing open the buttons and zippers that stood between him and the prize. He yanked the jeans from Will's legs and pushed the trembling thighs apart. Will's erection bulged beneath a layer of fabric, visibly throbbing as Hannibal's hands cruised down the insides of his thighs.

“Oh my god!” The cry burst from Will's lips short moments later.

Hannibal clutched Will's throbbing cock through his boxers, dragging his hand up and down in short, rapid motions.

A rush of power and a need for more filled Hannibal's head. Will's cock, hot and rigid, in his the controlling grip of his hand, the incoherent, pleasured sobbing that wrenched from Will's lips fueled the unbridled passion that perched just below Hannibal's chest.

With a growl, he turned his hands to the task of relieving Will of his boxers. Seams popped under the force, and Will moaned as his cock sprang free of fabric restraint. They grappled with his shirt at the same moment, both pairs of hands trembling and yanking to discard the last physical barrier between Will's skin and the hands that worshiped it.

As the sweater fell to the ground they both slowed, their eyes meeting. In the silence, Hannibal's heart roared like a waterfall through his skull. His body was on fire, every inch of him aching for this union; and yet, he had to take a moment to acknowledge that calm place in between the beats, the place he'd always found Will, but had only ever longed for him. This was their becoming, two becoming one.

“Don't stop.” Will whispered.

Fixing his eyes to Will's, Hannibal lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Will's legs eased apart as Hannibal slid closer, looming over Will's naked, trembling body. His gaze flitted over the smooth, pale canvas of flesh, pausing longer at the rigid member that throbbed against his belly. Taking Will's hand, Hannibal guided it to his chest, connecting them once again by the rhythmic voice of a heartbeat.

Will drew in a shuddering breath. His hips angled up impatiently, silently begging the touch of Hannibal's hand. His fingers curled against Hannibal's chest, carving into skin as if to penetrate directly into the vital organ beyond.

Hannibal seized Will's cock with an errant fist, performing a few harsh tugs before holding himself in check.

Will gave an explosive moan, thrusting his hips against the punishing grip. Teeth clenching, he breathed hard against the friction Hannibal eagerly inflicted.

“Please ...” He whined, his head tilting sharply back against the floor.

“I won't hurt you.” Hannibal repeated, just as much a reminder to himself as to Will.

Will let out a growl, his eyes snapping to meet Hannibal's, “I don't care what you do, just make me come.”

Hannibal's eyes narrowed, his chest simmering with need and frustration.

It was hard to grasp that this tender, trembling thing beneath him, the man he adored to such a foolish extent, was capable of being so much of an irritant as to strip every good intention from Hannibal's mind.

“Come on!” Will insisted, his hand shoving against Hannibal's chest, “Fucking do it!”

Hannibal's hand flew to Will's neck, slamming him down against the floor so hard that Will's head struck the wood slats. Will's fingers clawed at the smooth, wood flooring as Hannibal lunged on the aching member that already leaked and throbbed for him.

Will's shout came abruptly and swelled into something akin to a scream as Hannibal's mouth consumed him. One fist remained tight around the base of Will's cock as Hannibal's lips formed a tight, pumping seal over the head and shaft. Will's desperate pants and moans spurred Hannibal on faster and harder, hand and mouth working the tender flesh to pleasure that lay just beyond the approaching abyss. Will's hands clutched at Hannibal's hair, pulling strands from the root and leaving his scalp burning. Hannibal growled, hungry and insatiable despite the flesh that filled his mouth. It was all at once too much, and not enough; he had imagined this act for so long, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he had taken Will's completely.

He squeezed Will's cock tight in his fist, trapping the blood flow, as he ducked his lips to find Will's tight, heavy balls.

“Oh my god!” Will cried, his body shaking.

Hannibal's lips wrapped about one testicle as the last of his control and mercy departed him. He sucked down hard, drawing a strangled cry of pleasure and pain from Will's lips. His wet lips glided to the other, clamping down with bruising force.

“Hannibal!” Will pleaded, on the verge of sobbing now.

Hannibal lifted his head to see Will sitting halfway up, his eyes wide and damp, his fingers scrabbling across the carpet as if to escape. One firm hand to his chest sent him back down to the floor, gazing up at Hannibal with fear and adoration. It was a lethal combination for Hannibal, the exact mixture of terror and love that had drawn Will to him from the beginning.

“Please,” Will moaned, his head tossing against the floor, “Please, I'm on fire ...”

Hannibal's grip remained tight on Will's cock, cutting off the circulation so effectively that tip gleamed purple and nearly burst with throbbing veins. It had to ache terribly.

“I'll make you come like this.” Hannibal whispered, his voice raw and hoarse, “You won't stop me.”

“No,” Will whimpered, shaking his head vehemently, “Please, do it. I'm fucking begging. Hannibal, please ….”

That pathetic whining was like fire touching gasoline in Hannibal's chest. He dove down, his mouth swallowing Will's cock again, his motions fueled by need that he could no longer control. He was harsh and eager, sucking hard and unaware of the moments his teeth scraped against the tender flesh.

He managed no more than a minute of vicious pleasuring before Will's hands began to bat at his head and his hips grew tense. Hannibal sealed his lips down taut as Will's lurking orgasm burst into reality. Thighs clutching tight around Hannibal's head, Will bucked uncontrollably through the explosion of pleasure, the sweet release. His ragged, pleasured cries tore from his lips, hitting Hannibal's ears like a beautiful melody. Hot, wet drops of cum burst across Hannibal's tongue, the sharp, salty taste burning into his palette and twisting his face in a mixture of disgust and pleasure.

He lifted his head from between Will's thighs, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth.

Will struggled to sit up, his chest heaving with exertion.

“You didn't have to do that.” He said, cringing softly at the look of utter disgust on Hannibal's face.

Hannibal waved him off. The release was thick and cloying against his tongue, distasteful to his pampered palette, but he wondered to himself if he might get used to it.

“Think nothing of it.” He murmured, easing to the floor next to Will, “It's a new experience for both of us … I presume.”

Will's eyes drifted away from him. Resting his head back against the carpet, he stared distantly at the ceiling his throat rising and falling in a difficult swallow.

Hannibal rested his chin on Will's shoulder, inspecting the fine sheen of perspiration over the soft, pale skin of his neck and shoulder. He smelled sharp with pleasure, dense with questioning.

“I told you I wouldn't force you to do anything sexual.” Hannibal murmured. He closed his eyes before forcing himself to add, “And I won't persist now to wring anything further from you.”

“I'm not scared.” Will replied, his gaze swinging to meet Hannibal's, “I stopped being scared of you a long time ago.”

“Good, that's not what I want.”

“I'm not afraid.” Will repeated, more softly this time, “And I'm not regretful.”

The second admission was the relief Hannibal had been hoping for. After achieving what he had wanted for so long, he didn't know if he could bear it should Will deny him again. He shifted closer, dipping his mouth to Will's chest. The tang of sweat was apparent, and Hannibal reveled his mouth in the sharp, feral taste. His hand reached across Will's stomach to grip his side, pulling them closer. His need to touch the one thing he had longed for, for so long, was hardly sated by one indelicate, uncouth explosion of pleasure. He wanted to worship this body like a work of art, he wanted to consume it and taste it's power over him. The baseness of what he had done rested like a weight in his chest, pushing him to act on his more refined impulses.

Hannibal buried his face in Will's neck, inhaling the scent of pure beauty. His hips surged against Will's thigh, ramming the hard lump of his erection into pliant skin. Will's hand grabbed onto his shoulder, dragging Hannibal to dizzying halt with one resisting push.

“W-wait.” Will whispered, haltingly.

Hannibal lifted his head, struggling to conceal his disappointment.

“You want to ...” Will licked his lips, eyes darting away, “... fuck me.”

“Will, I could go into the psychology of that certain term in great depth, but I'll simply refine it to it's sharpest point – I want to do so much more than fuck you.”

“It's not spiritual enough for you?” Will asked, smiling briefly.

“Not in the least.” Hannibal smiled, brushing his fingertips across Will's cheek.

Will paused for a moment before turning his face away from the gentle caress.

“I want to do things to you too.” He whispered.

Hannibal's heart constricted. The breath caught in his throat for a few suffocating moments before he managed to give a strangled cough and find his voice.

“Why can't you look at me when you say it?”

Will's jaw worked, but he didn't meet Hannibal's gaze, “Because … what's going on in my head is the type of things people … _normal_ people are ashamed of.”

“You don't have to be ashamed with me.”

It was said in his softest, most persuasive tone, but Will refused to look at him. Hannibal touched Will's chin gently, testing his resolve, before turning Will's face toward him. Will resisted for only a moment before complying. His eyes were wide and darting, his cheeks the color of rose petals.

“You can say anything you feel to me.” Hannibal added, “Anything at all, and I won't humiliate you.”

“Back in therapy, hmm, Doctor Lecter?”

“You get sarcastic when you're defensive.” Hannibal observed, dulling the chastisement with a smile, “It's not an effective form of communication.”

“No, but it effectively ends the communication.” Will said.

He rolled out from under Hannibal and rose to his feet before Hannibal could decide whether to stop him or not.

“Will.” Hannibal said, rising from the floor, “Haven't we spent enough to chasing each other in circles?”

Will paused, his back to Hannibal. The lines of muscles showed taut and bunched through his back and shoulders, and his feet sat in a wide, defensive stance.

“Will,” Hannibal repeated, taking a step closer to Will's back, “Don't shut down again. You're internalizing; it's not healthy.”

“Healthy.” Will chuckled, “Now that's ironic, coming from you.”

“I just want what's best for you. I always have.”

Will broke away from him, striding toward the hallway to the bedrooms.

“It's late, don't you think?” He said, without looking back, “I'm going to bed.”

Hannibal let out a sigh as the bedroom door shut firmly behind Will. He wondered, perhaps, if it would have been easier had he stuck by his decision to eat Will before Fate had intervened. Fate was a nasty thing.

 


	9. Sainthood Ecstasy

Will buried his face in the pillow and uttered a quiet groan. It was perhaps the hundredth time he had rolled over, trying to find a comfortable spot in the bed, a place where he could finally sleep. Cracking one eye open, he shot a glare at the clock.

Nearly one a.m. Two hours since he had left Hannibal standing in the living room.

Every time he closed his eyes, he relived the brief moments of pleasure, and the sensation of Hannibal's mouth sucking down on him. If he kept his eyes closed long enough, his mind invented a version in which Will pinned Hannibal to the floor and had his way.

The desires pounded behind his eyelids like battering rams, threatening to break free of the gray matter. His hands sweated and itched for the contact, hungry for skin and pain. The clawing in his chest heightened as he drowned in the maddening silence of the room.

He could imagine it all in detail, and not for the first time he cursed his own rampant imagination.

Will sat upright, his heart pounding when he heard the doorknob twist and click open. Light from the hall spilled into the room, silhouetting Hannibal's figure.

“What is it?” Will asked, squinting.

“I heard you tossing.” Hannibal replied.

He strode across the room and extended a glass of water to Will.

“Thank you.” Will muttered.

The glass was cold and wet with condensation, a bare relief to the fire burning inside him. He swallowed back the water in half a dozen gulps and set the empty cup on the night stand.

Hannibal hovered over him. His concerned gaze was masked by shadows, but the emotion rolled off him.

“Was that all?” Will asked.

“No.” Hannibal replied.

Will drew back as Hannibal lifted his shirt over his head and slipped out of his slacks.

“What are you doing?” Will demanded.

“I'm coming to bed.”

Will stammered briefly as Hannibal threw back the sheets and made himself comfortable on the mattress next to him.

“You have your own bed.” Will pointed out, weakly.

“I'd rather share this one with you.” Hannibal said. He grasped Will's wrist and pulled him down to the sheets, “Why don't you try to enjoy it?”

Will flopped back against the pillow, grumbling under his breath.

“You can't sleep.” Hannibal whispered, “Why torment yourself, staring through the dark, silently trying to crush the thoughts that are consuming you? Talk to me.”

“We always did understand each other best during therapy sessions I suppose.” Will remarked, glancing over at Hannibal.

Hannibal lay on his side, gazing intently at Will, his eyes like two burning embers, piercing the dark.

“It was only the beginning.” Hannibal replied, reaching over to take Will's hand in both of his.

“I told you all that I'm going to say.” Will replied, stubbornly.

“We've laid our cards quite clearly on the table, haven't we? We've taken that first step.”

“One step into the grave ...” Will muttered.

“It could be so much more than that.” Hannibal replied, drawing Will's knuckles to his mouth, “A marriage of two minds, true devotion. If you think I'm offering you anything less, you haven't really seen the truth.”

“I see.” Will said, teeth gritted, “I see enough. Aren't you living in a dream, Hannibal? We're on the run, from the authorities. As far as I know we're on the FBI's most wanted list. We've changed addresses four times in past six months, and I don't think that trend is going to change. If we're ever caught, they won't let us near each other again, not even a glimpse through bars of a prison dungeon. Everything we've enjoyed will be worthless, even worse torment than what I'm experiencing right now.”

“Why taste the forbidden fruit, if you can only enjoy it for a season?”

“Yes.” Will said, his voice softer this time, “It would be like cutting off my own arm, and I don't . .. I don't think I can take that.”

“I would take it.” Hannibal whispered, reaching over to cradle Will's cheek, “I would take it for eternity if it meant one day with you.”

Will tried to scoff, but his throat was tight with emotion, “This isn't _The Iliad._ I'm not Patroclus. If we die on the battle field, it won't be some depiction of undying love.”

“Reality and fiction are so often mirrors of each other, reflecting and illuminating the flaws in one another. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the grotesque. For every good, pure thing, there is something evil and ugly to match it. I choose to see the beauty, Will. Where you see doom and sadness, I see the light of potential, the seeds that will blossom into something of eternal, lasting beauty. We won't leave this world without making our mark, together.”

“Beauty in suffering.” Will concluded, “You crave it.”

Hannibal shifted onto his elbows so that he could gaze down at Will, “It would do the most beautifully horrific things to you, and then you would see what I see. The scales fallen from your eyes, you would never be able to turn away again.”

Will drew in a shuddering breath. A shiver chased down his spine, the touch of white-hot electricity driving out the cold grip of dread in his stomach. Hannibal's lips touch his knuckles again, kissing each one and working their way up to his fingertips.

Will tried to recoil his hand, but Hannibal gripped tighter. His lips surrounded Will's index finger, drawing it half-way into the velvet, wet, heat of his mouth. The sensation sent a bolt of lightning through Will's body, striking at his core and forcing a weak cry from his lips.

Hannibal bent closer, his broad shoulders heaving out a great sigh as he dropped his head to Will's chest, like a mourning lover from the paintings he adored.

“Let me love you.” He whispered, and it was the most pathetic, yet heartfelt moan Will had ever heard.

Distressed, Will cradled Hannibal head to his chest, hoping to cease the long, low moan. His fingers curled into the long, soft strands of hair, dragging Hannibal face up to his neck. Hannibal clung to his shoulders, the warm, solid weight of his body sinking down on top of Will in a both suffocating and reassuring manner.

Hannibal slowly lifted his head, revealing the glint of tears in his eyes. His lips trembling, he clutched Will's face with passionate hands.

“Let me show you.” He murmured, his thumb stroking across Will's cheek.

Will's eyes slipped shut as Hannibal's lips descended, imparting a tender kiss. It was not in Will's heart to maintain rejection in the face of genuine emotion. He could have resisted for days had Hannibal entered the room, angry and threatening; it was the thick, pooling tears glistening in the eyes he knew so well that had felled his last defense.

Hannibal kissed him with slow-burning passion, stroking Will's cheeks with tenderness that scrubbed all the pain and agony from Will's memory. The world and it's consequences faded into the background, dim stars to the radiance of Hannibal's sun.

Will turned his face up the kiss, his mouth slipping open to accept the curious flick of Hannibal's tongue. Hannibal uttered a moan as he tilted his head to the side, angling his mouth down against Will's to deepen the kiss. His hands braced against the mattress, lifting him over Will's body until he was straddling Will's hips. Will moaned, his hands clawing through the air to find Hannibal's shoulders. His lips began to burn with the friction and his mouth frothed with eager saliva that Hannibal's tongue greeted with long, lavish strokes. Will couldn't return the gesture, his head clutched in Hannibal's strong grasp, his mouth crushed under the burning passion of Hannibal's mouth.

Will was clutching desperately at Hannibal's chest when at last Hannibal relented. His breath blasted across Will's cheeks, his eyes holding Will's for several moments before he leaned back, pinning Will's hips to the mattress.

“This time you'll tell me.” He murmured, stroking Will's chest with one hand.

Will swallowed convulsively, trying to find his voice.

“No more games.” Hannibal added, his voice dipping low, “You'll tell me what you want.”

“I ...” Will began, hoarsely.

Hannibal hand snared his throat, fingernails dipping into Will's skin like a warning, “Tell me.”

Will squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing back a moan. When he opened his eyes again, Hannibal hovered just above him, his eyes drilling holes through Will's skull.

“I … I want you ...” Will began, his voice fragile and trembling, “I want you to … fuck me.”

“Oh, dear Will, what did I say about that word? Please, be more creative.”

Will whined quietly, struggling to find the words that would cause him the least amount of shame. The things trapped inside his head were acts he'd never done, sensations he'd never experienced. He'd never said them aloud, not even to the dark, empty room.

“I want … your mouth ...” Will panted, glancing up cautiously for the reaction.

“Where?” Hannibal's grip tightened.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, stammering, “On me … o-opening me . ..”

Suddenly, Hannibal's grip released Will's throat. There was a flurry of movement and muttered curses as Hannibal climbed off of Will and forced him onto his stomach. Will grabbed onto the pillow, his breath coming now in shallow, rapid pants, his ears ringing in panicked desperation. Hannibal ripped his boxers from his body, releasing Will's rigid cock from it's bare confines. His grasp landed at Will's hips, dragging his backside up, exposing him. 

Will shot a glance over his shoulder, his eyes round and blinking as he took in the image of Hannibal bent over him, his mouth hovering just over Will's tailbone. Hot breath poured down the cleft, igniting the burn of arousal in ways that Will hadn't prepared himself for.

“Hannib-”

The sharp cry cut off into muffled cry into the pillow.

The first touch of Hannibal's lips against his skin was like a branding of white-hot fire. It was a bare brush compared to their recent kiss, and yet Will was unable to control the spasm of pleasure that rippled like a wave through his body. He jerked forward, his fingers tearing at the pillow, a fresh cry on his lips. Hannibal pulled him back, planting his lips firmly and wetly against the top of Will's cleft. The harsh kiss lasted mere seconds before he delved downward, his tongue drawing a wet stripe from the taut hole to the balls.

Will muffled a louder cry into the pillow, his eyes rolling back. His body thrummed, bursting with pleasure that lay just beyond. His throat was in a noose, but his mind chanted an affirmation of  _yes, yes, yes._

After the initial burst of need, Hannibal slowed his ministrations to a purposeful pace that pulled Will back from the edge. His tongue swirled softly around the puckered hole, tasting him and coaxing the muscles to his relax.

Will shifted his knees wider and tilted his hips back against Hannibal's face. Eager and trembling, he arched his back as the pleasure twisted through his body. Hannibal gripped his ass cheeks, spreading him open to the lavish pleasuring. His tongue was hot and wet, smearing saliva over his entire cleft, down to the aching weight of his balls. The tip lingered teasingly against his perineum, hiking the steadily burning pleasure in one rapid burst. Will jerked forward, his whole body on pins and needles of aching pleasure. The ball of pleasure expanded low in his tummy; he could feel his cock throbbing freely, untouched between his widespread legs.

Hannibal pulled back, leaving Will whining and keening, saliva cooling on his skin.

“You taste exquisite.” Hannibal intoned, perforating the haze swimming in Will's brain.

Will allowed his mouth to lift from the pillow and draw in a gasping breath. He was too dazed to respond, but his incoherent moans served the purpose of reply.

Hannibal delivered a row of kisses over the slope of his backside, while his hand slipped quietly between Will's legs. Will jolted, giving a sharp cry as Hannibal grasped his cock, giving it a few ragged pulls before sliding up to fondle his balls.

“Please ...” The word slipped in between the moans of it's own accord. Will was hardly aware he'd said it, but once it was past his lips, he couldn't stop himself from begging, “Hannibal, please ...”

“You're dripping.” Hannibal murmured, his fingertips grazing across the swollen head.

“I'm ready.” Will moaned, thrusting his hips back toward Hannibal's face.

He gave a petulant grunt when Hannibal's hand left his cock, aching and unsatisfied.

“I'm not done eating you.”

Will's hazy smile at that remark lasted mere seconds before it was replaced by an open mouthed moan. Hannibal's mouth returned to his flesh with vigor, lapping eagerly at the hole in between perfunctory sucks. When he finished, the area was wet and gleaming with the saliva and the flesh was pliant and expectant.

A kiss lingered against one cheek as he touched his fingertip gently against the hole. Will let out a loud moan and lurched forward. The touch was electrifying, or perhaps the knowledge of what would come after that touch was what shocked him.

Hannibal pulled him back into place, one hand pressuring on Will's lower back to force his ass higher. He brushed his thumb against the hole, testing the clench of muscle. Will whimpered helplessly, his body shaking as Hannibal pressed a finger to the taut opening. 

A whole new chasm of pleasure cracked open inside him as Hannibal dipped his finger inside, all the way to the knuckle. Will gasped sharply, all the breath leaving his lungs. His chest shuddered for long moments as he tried to breathe again, but even the most coherent thought had left him. His mind was anchored solely to the burning, throbbing pleasure that Hannibal's simple touch ignited.

Hannibal's hand petted his flank as he shifted his finger, first out and then in again. The first few thrusts were strange and breathless, a new, aching sensation that Will had never experienced outside of a doctor or his own hesitant exploration. But this wasn't clinical, nor was it inexperienced. Hannibal knew exactly how to touch him, just the angle and depth. Will had no chance, his body no will to fight. He split open like a cavern to the gentle, precise persuasion.

The seduction of Hannibal's fingers was slow, agonizing. He wasn't moved by Will's imploring moans, or the rapid pace at which Will's body succumbed to him. He built the friction to a sweet, ringing siren in Will's head, a hypnotic caress that left Will panting and salivating into the pillow. His brain was hollowed out except for the erotic touch playing out inside him. He endured the torturous pleasure with silence, every muscle clenched against the electric zap of ecstasy that hit him each time Hannibal's fingers dove down to his prostrate.

By the time Hannibal had fitted three inside him, Will was bursting with pleasure, his core taut and on the verge of release. It lingered at the fringes of his mind, teasing him though he reached for it, begging it to come. He nearly screamed when Hannibal withdrew his fingers, snatching away the possibility of climax.

Will turned his head to look over his shoulder when he felt Hannibal's presence shift away. He blinked in the dim lighting off the room as he watched Hannibal take a bottle from the drawer of the nightstand and pour a generous amount of clear liquid over his erection. All other senses numbed by the pleasure, Will did have the presence of mind to wonder when Hannibal had purchased lubricant and how long it had been since he'd begun to consider their consummation a real possibility.

He was more drawn to the arousing image of Hannibal's naked profile, barely outlined by the dim light peeking past the curtains, his head tilted back to utter a low sound of pleasure at the lubricated massage of his hand.

“Don't cum without me.” Will mumbled.

Hannibal's eyes cut to him, dancing with amusement, “I wouldn't think of it.”

Clutching the bottle, he climbed back onto the bed and positioned himself behind Will's upraised backside. Will's breath caught when he felt the cool spill of liquid across his skin. The lube sluiced down the cleft and dripped from his balls, plastering him in a moist sensation of readiness.

Will arched back toward Hannibal, moaning in anticipation. His heart was like a jackhammer in his chest, and his palms were drenched with anxious sweat. The night lay before him, inky black and unforeseeable, a blank slate of possibility. He knew very little of what would happen next, but he was both terrified and impatient to find out.

Hannibal cast the bottle aside. Will focused on the distortion of light and shadow passing through the transparent fluid. The nudge of hard flesh against him grounded his mind in the reality of what he had succumbed to, and despite the fear knocking against his ribs, he remained a compliant prisoner to Hannibal's desires.

Rigid cockhead slid smoothly across lubed skin, grazing over the blooming opening. For breathless moments, Will waited, his heart pounding, until at last, Hannibal guided his cock back down to the gaping opening. The tip plunged inside, squeezing just past the ring of muscle to test how tight this virgin passage was.

“Ahhh ...” Will gave a thin, failing cry.

Hannibal was slow, but not merciful. The pressure did not cease until his hips were flush against Will's backside, his cock buried to the hilt. Will pawed at the sheets as his lungs convulsed. It was but one part of him, and yet, it felt as if his entire body was stretched open and filled by someone else – not just someone else, but Hannibal Lecter.

Will slowly became aware of his own loud, shallow breathing and the heat of the pillow in his face. He was aware of every sensation, big or small; his entire body was a livewire, a conduit of every sexual pleasure Hannibal could derive.

They were rocking, slow steady, back and forth. Flesh slapping. Air crushed from his body to make room for Hannibal throbbing erection. Sweat glazing across his back, suffocating him. Fingers tracing across his body, worshiping him.

The world was hazy and sharp all at once, like a trip he didn't want to come out of. There was a constant pain, and yet, the touch of pleasure deep inside him, the sweet spot that Hannibal seemed to touch with every thrust, kept him bound on the side of pleasure. The throbbing that had so wildly throbbed and burned moments ago rested like a dull, simmering ache in his groin. As if Hannibal were extracting the pleasure from him, spin by spin, sweet and intensive.

The ache expanded, swallowing him, until the distant throb was all he was. The sharp pain that speared between his legs prolonged until he gave into the torture, accepting it, craving it. There, tumbling through a womb of growing sensation and pleasure, he tripped over the line into the abyss, where the spasms thrust him, birthed into a new reality. He came back to himself, gasping and bucking, his idle fingers springing to action across the sheets. The hot, wet rain of release dappled his thighs and spattered the sheets as he spasmed, pleasure squeezing all juice from him.

Sensitized and delirious, Will writhed under Hannibal persistent thrusting. He moaned aloud, his body twisting and rebelling when it was already too late. Hannibal took a firm hold of his hip with one hand and a handful of his curls with the other and reined him in hard. Will's body jerked back, speared on Hannibal vibrantly throbbing cock. The ache went so deep he wailed a ragged and hoarse cry that only seemed to spur Hannibal on faster, harder.

The thrusting came in a vigorous burst, Hannibal's hips slapping harsh and eager against Will's backside. Paralyzed, Will gasped into the sheets until he thought he couldn't take it anymore. And just as he wondered if he wouldn't simply split in half under the pressure, Hannibal uttered a guttural cry and stiffened against him. His fingers clamped like a vice around Will's hair, pulling his head back and tearing strands from the roots. With a great shudder, he released into Will's aching body a flood of hot, wet fluid. Will's mouth stretched open, releasing a few bare gasped and wheezes. The release was hot and thick inside him, perhaps the most unexpected of all the sensations he'd never expected to experience tonight.

Hannibal drew back slowly, giving a soft whimper as his cock released itself from the tight confines of Will's body. Will swallowed against a dry throat as he carefully shifted his knees out from under himself. He remained on his stomach, his face half-hidden in the pillow as Hannibal sank down next to him.

Will shot a quick glance at Hannibal, trying to conjure something to say. Hannibal hair was in uncharacteristic disarray, and his skin gleamed with a sheen of perspiration. His chest expanded in exhilarated pants, and Will could almost see his heart throbbing against his ribs.

At last, Hannibal looked at him. Their gazes collided awkwardly for several moments before Will turned his face away.

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice raw.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, hiding what was sure to be bright red blush in the pillow.

“Will, my darling,” Hannibal's hand touched his head, gentle but urgent, “Do you know what you do to me?”

Will slowly lifted his head from the pillow and drew in a shuddering breath.

“My heart is yours.” Hannibal murmured, a bare smile touching his lips, “I'm powerless.”

“You're powerless?” Will asked, giving a choked laugh, “I-I can't even move.”

“Was I too harsh?”

“No.” Will shook his head.

“Good.”

Hannibal pulled Will to him, tucking him securely under his arm and wrapping both arms fully around Will's body. Will's resistance lasted mere seconds; he melted like butter inside the safety of Hannibal's embrace.

“You were the very vision of the _Ecstasy of St. Teresa._ ” Hannibal murmured, his fingers stroking through Will's hair, “The sculpture stands in the Cornaro Chapel in Santa Maria della Vittoria, Rome. I've seen it only once myself, but it remains intact in my memory.”

“Why do I remind you of it?” Will asked.

“The sculpture depicts a scene from the biography of the St. Teresa of Avila.” Hannibal replied, “A devout nun, St. Teresa had a vision of an angel which came down from heaven to run her through the heart with a golden arrow, igniting religious ecstasy inside her. I believe the exact quotation from the biography goes as such,  ' The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it.'”

A frown crossed Will's brow, “So, I'm St. Teresa … and  _ you're  _ God.”

“Metaphorically.” Hannibal replied, his mouth tipping in a demure smile. 

“It's a good comparison as any.” Will murmured, “I'd be a fool to insist there is any going back now.”

“The point of no return suggests dread and regret, Will. That's not what I want for you.” Hannibal said, turning Will's face toward his. 

Their eyes met, and for the first time, Will didn't search for the hidden motive behind the loving gaze. 

“No regret.” He replied, his voice paper thin, “No do-overs. This is our reality.”

“You admit it? Freely?” Hannibal asked, his eyes growing wider. 

“I think I admitted it a long time ago.” Will said, frowning at his own obstinance, “Right before I threw us off the bluff.”

Hannibal's arms tightened around him, “You will be my St. Teresa, bound by fiery devotion.” 

Will's eyes slipped shut as Hannibal's lips grazed across his cheek and temple. Warmth flooded his chest. He didn't fight the overwhelming feelings as he had before. 

“Mine, to bear the pain and the pleasure, tasting both the sweet and the bitter.” Hannibal's voice was low and husky against his ear, “Mine, that your devotion will never be wasted or go unrewarded.”

They were silent and didn't speak again as sleep lulled them away to dreamland. When daylight broke across the shore and threw sun rays past the curtains, they were stilled tangled in a clinging embrace. 

 

~the end~

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: [relentless-fire](http://relentless-fire.tumblr.com/)


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